Hunters & Huntsmen
by FreakTv1099
Summary: The Hunt has ended, the Hunters contract now fulfilled. Awakening in a strange world, a young Hunter must find his purpose.
1. Loose Ends

**Hey guys, long time no see. I guess you must be a bit irked about me rewriting the story, huh? Sorry about that, I just moved to Texas, all the way from Virginia mind you, and things just slipped away. But, now that I've started school and gotten back into the grove of things, I think I'm ready to make a fresh start of this. Hopefully, you'll all appreciate this much more than my original, as I'm aware there were glaring issues with it. I intend to make none of those mistakes, and I hope to maintain a more constant update schedule. So without any delay, I present the newer version of "Hunters & Huntsmen"**

 **Funny how I kept the same title right? Oh, and I couldn't respond to this as it was sent by a guest, but Simon's bowblade is the bomb, even though my love lies with the Rakuyo.**

 **And P.S. I mentioned this in my last story, but watch Vaatividya, he does really good lore videos for the SoulsBorne series.**

The Hunter sits at the edge of the beach, his bare feet soaking in the icy water. The rain bears down on him, plastering his hair to his face in damp rattails. He moves his hand to his face, brushing a curtain of white hair over his left eye. His uncovered eye continues to stare upwards, fixated on the moonless sky. It was rather strange, he could've sworn he'd seen the moon there, shattered, but still floating above the earth. Though, with the death of the Orphan, the sky had shifted to an empty, grey canvas.

His attention shifts to his weapon, an old, worn down cane. Blood still dripped from the hilt, running down the nicked blade and soaking into the already moistened sand. The foul scent, present in the blood of all Kin, had long since faded, leeched away by the smell of the sea.

He lifts the flap of his coat pocket and reaches in. His fingers run along the chain clipped to his coat, stopping as it brushes against the rounded edge of his watch. He grips the watch and removes it from his pocket. The light glints off of the surface as he turns it over in his hand. The golden shell was clean, sheltered from any form of stain or damage by the lining of the Hunter's pocket. Its spotless surface had obviously been cared for, almost obsessively.

His finger pushes down on the latch release, unlocking the cover and allowing it to open. A small picture had been pressed into the inside of the lid, securely adhered to the metal itself. A finger traces along the edge, just outlining the shape of the girl's face. She was young, maybe around four years his junior, with curly brown hair and light brown skin. He recognized himself standing beside her, his white hair parted neatly at the side, leaving the bangs to frame his face. He could see the similarities between them, from the angular shape of their faces to the sharp blue eyes that seemed to stare through you. They could be cousins, or siblings, if only through one common parent.

Questions stretch his mind, pressing against his skull in an attempt to break free. Who was she? And where was she? The questions would appear out of the blue, forcing him to strain to find an answer. He'd sort through the memories that filled his head, sifting through the memories of those he'd slaughtered in search of one he knew to be his own.

* * *

" _Please," The girl begs, "Just on song."_

" _No," The boy answers, his grip tightens on the pen, scribbling across the page. "I have work to do, and you need to go to bed."_

" _Come on," She pleads, "one song isn't going to kill you, and you've got all day tomorrow to get that piece written down."_

" _I need all day tomorrow," He states, "Just like I needed all day today."_

 _The girl let's go and falls to the ground. He can feel her resentful glare burning into the side of his head. He knew she wasn't going to let this go; she'd badger him until the sun came up if she could._

" _Dammit," His hand recoils as quickly as possible to minimize the mistake. Shit, the note was in the wrong place. Maybe he could...dammit, every note on this page was a line too high, he'd have to do the whole thing over._

" _One song," He says, irritation lacing his voice. He stands from his desk, shutting his eyes and massaging them. "One song, then you go to bed."_

 _The girl stands, giving a wide smile. His face softens as he looks down at her, quickly forgetting how irritating she had been for the past hour. Not that he could stay mad, not when she put on a smile like that. He reaches down and tousles her hair, pulling her bangs forward and over her left eye._

" _Stop!" She demands, shaking her head and pulling away. "I hate it when you do that."_

" _And I hate being bothered when I'm busy." He retorts, "But life is made of small concessions."_

 _He walks past her, stopping to push the door open. A cool breeze blows through as the space in the doorway widens. He looks over his shoulder; the girl stands there, arms behind her back as she sways side to side._

" _Come on," He encourages._

 _The two enter the hallway, treading carefully in across the poorly lit floor._

" _Hey!"_

 _The girl squeaks as she trips on a bulge in the carpet. She grabs onto the boy's arm, digging her nails into his bare flesh. He catches her, biting the inside of his cheek to remain quiet._

" _You alright?" He asks, looking her over. "I don't know why the staff won't mount any sconces here, someone's going to break their neck getting a drink of water."_

" _I'm fine," She says, standing up straight. He knew she was lying, but he couldn't deny the swell of pride he felt. She was a tough one, maybe she would be okay if he left._

" _Then let's go."_

 _The two continue, eyes focused on the ground for anything else they could trip on. Good timing, considering the distraction it provided from the hunting trophies mounted on the wall. Already angled to stare with lifeless eyes at whomever walked through the hall, the little bit of light the windows let in only served to make it even more haunting._

 _He feels her arms tighten around his as she steps closer, leaning her head against him. He smiles. He didn't like it when she was scared, but the older she got, the less he needed to be the protective older brother. He missed that. He'd take any opportunity he'd get to experience that feeling again._

" _You're not scared, are you?" He taunts, looking down to the girl. She shakes her head._

" _I'm not scared" She lies, "I'm not scared of anything."_

 _He chuckles_

" _Then I'm sure you can run up ahead and get the door to the recreational room."_

 _Her grip around his arm tightens._

 _The pair reach the end of the hall, still conjoined at the arm as they push the door open and step inside. The large windows were effective in allowing the midnight moon to illuminate each even the most remote areas of the room. It was an impressive sight; Several leather sofas had been arranged around the grand piano at the far end of the room, with several sets of tables and chairs placed in such a way that viewing whomever was playing would be easy._

 _Freeing himself from his sister's grip, the boy walks up to the piano. He pulls the bench out from under it and sits, the girl follows in suit. His fingers work their way under the cover, lifting it back to reveal an array of black and white keys. He limbers up, pushing each finger down until he feels a satisfying pop at the base of the digit._

" _What would you like me to play?" He asks, practicing scales as the girl watches beside him. She mirrors his movements, running her hand over each key as he moves up and down the board._

" _It can be anything," He adds , "Anything at all."_

" _Even one of mom's songs?"_

 _The music stops._

" _One of Mom's songs?" He repeats. How long had it been since she died? Six years? Six years since Mom had stopped singing, six years since they ended up on their own._

" _I didn't think you remembered those songs," He says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He couldn't get choked up now, not in front of her. He looks down at the piano's keys, his blue eyes focusing on each nick and scratch on the painted sugar pine._

" _I don't quite remember it,' She clarifies, "but I remember her. It's odd, but whenever I think of her, there's this hum that i keep hearing."_

 _She hums gently, closing her eyes and swaying side to side as she recreates the tune. The boy lets out a low laugh, wiping away the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes._

 _"That was your favorite," He says, gently pressing down on several keys. The chord echoes in the room, bouncing around the walls and vibrating against their ears. He plays another one, adding to the tune. He begins the song. It starts out rough; constrained and choppy. Soon though, it smooths out, shifting into a gentle and consistent tempo. His eyes close as he eases into the music. His arms relax, becoming looser, almost rubber like as his body sways from side to side, moving with the rhythm of the music. One, two and three and four. One, two and three, four. One, two and three and four. One, two, three, four._

 _He stops, holding down the final chord until the sound dies out entirely, leaving them alone in the dark room. His chest tightens as he sucks in several breaths. Dammit, he'd held his breath again. He'd need to kick that habit, and soon if he was going to start playing for a crowd._

 _"Dammit, boy." The Instructor would reprimand, swatting at his sides. "You need to breathe, there's no coin to be earned if you fall asleep during a performance. Again."_

 _He laughs, remembering how often his instructor had drilled that lesson into his head, and yet here he was again; struggling to catch his breath._

 _He looks to his side. His sister was fast asleep, her head resting against his side as she snored. God she was loud, was he like this when he slept too?_

" _Come on little one," He says softly, carefully picking the girl up. She shifts, rearranging her arms in a more comfortable position, but remained asleep nonetheless._

" _Let's get you to bed."_

* * *

The Hunter sits upright gasping for air as his chest constricts.. His body straightens as his arms extend, his hands grasping at the empty space around him.

 _Dammit_

His stomach knots as he tries to catch his breath, twisting and churning as clouds of steam rise from his mouth with each shallow breath.

 _Why? Why is that all I ever see?_

He buries his head in his hands, sending the hot puffs of air into his face. He didn't care. All he wanted was an end. An end to this, the nightmare, the killing. He just wanted it to end.

He must've been sitting there for ages before the tugging on his sleeve became apparent. He lifts his and looks to his left. A messenger sat by his side, its small hands holding onto his sleeve.

"Is there something you need?" His voice falters as he draws in a shaky breath. The creature releases his sleeve and cocks its head, standing idle as it stares up at him. Odd, could it tell he was distress?

"I'm fine," He says, both to himself and the Messenger. It nods and points behind itself, its arm was shaking. Perhaps as a way to convey urgency.

"What is it?" The Hunter asks, turning around and sitting on his knees to look past the small creature. It's finger points past the body of Kos, towards the lamp.

"I really wish you things could speak," He groans, reaching for his boots. He tugs them onto his still wet feet. The leather sticks and pulls against the damp flesh. With a hard pull, he yanks them onto his feet. He laces the boots and stands.

"I suppose the Old Man want's me to pay a visit." He remarks, tensing at the thought. He'd have to go back to the dream sooner or later, he knew that much. The echos of Kos' child would drive him mad if he were to carry them for too long. Still, he didn't want to talk to "Him". He could only guess at what he wanted, and no possible outcome seemed appealing. Even so, blood echos or not, he would have to visit the dream sooner or later, and he'd prefer to visit of his own accord, rather than being taken by force.

 _Could they do that, though?_ He had woken up inside the dream on a few occasions rather than at the lamps he had previously lit, though both times he had suffered a particularly violent demise; blood everywhere, his severed arm flung over the side of the bridge. Come to think of it, he had been so thoroughly eviscerated in both instances, he doubted whether or not the dream could revive him properly.

 _No, that wouldn't happen._

Plucking his cap from the handle of his cane, he tugs it on, pressing a curtain of white hair into his face.

 _Though I suppose anything is possible._

He turns, making his way to the lamp. He feet sink in the moist sand as he passes Kos' cadaver. Pity pulls at his chest as he averts his gaze. She wasn't a malevolent creature as most of her ilk, merely a victim of the Byrgenwerth scholar's lust for knowledge.

Deplorable.

The Hunter stops in front of the lamp, dropping to his knees for a closer look at the bulb.

"Odd," He mumbles. The bulb was still unlit, why? Lighting the lamps had become almost habitual; a sort of ritual to cleanse away the danger surrounding him, and yet here it was, unlit and unused. The fight against Kos' offspring was a long one, driving him close to the point of passing out near its close, but surely that wouldn't override the deeply set habits he had developed over the course of The Hunt, would it?

He shakes his head. It doesn't matter, he was lighting it now. He extends his arm, pressing his thumb and index finger together, as though he were holding a match. His strikes the "match" with his thumb, eliciting an odd ' _humm'_ from the lamp as the bulb illuminates. The small flame grows, creating a circle of light around the lamp. The air grew warmer, as though it were burning away the stench of death and blood with it's cleansing luminescence.

Kneeling in front of the lamp, the Hunter extends his left arm, holding it above the bulb. Smoke and light rise around him as the coldness begins to encroach upon him. He braces himself for the unpleasant sensation of travel as a white light begins to envelop him. He takes a calming breath as the darkness of sleep envelops him.

* * *

The inky blackness of sleep gives way to the a red stained ceiling. The Hunter sits upright, gagging as a foul scent reaches into his throat. The stench was familiar; a mix of rotted flesh and blood. Where was he? This wasn't the dream, far from it in fact. Water drains from his sleeves as he stands, hitting the ground as though there were a lake below him. He looks to his feet, spying at least half of the foul stench currently assaulting him. He had awoken ankle deep in a pool of blood.

He looks to his right; the piles of bodies remained, with both crimson tinged skeletons and skinless cadavers making up most of the mounds' mass. Some of the bodies still writhe in pain as the crushing weight squeezes the blood from their veins. He remembers first entering this chamber, finding the source of the bloody river that ran through the nightmare, as well as the beast that had created it.

The Hunter turns away, coughing as the scent reaches into his throat once again. Blood splashes around his ankles as he walks towards the stairs. A shadow catches his eye; a large lump, misshapen and unmoving.

Ludwig.

The shaft of an arrow sticks out from his eye, a clean shot to the brain. He steps closer, staring down at the severed head with a mix of pity and anger. He was a twisted shadow of the Hunter he once was, warped by the blood and the nightmare.

No one deserved such a fate.

And yet he and his Hunters were the reason for the nightmare's existence, the reason for the curse the Hunters now suffered. He was a beast, through and through.

* * *

 _"Good Hunter of the Church," A voice calls out, hoarse and sickly as its owner struggles to breathe. The Hunter stands, swinging his arm around and aiming his blunderbuss towards the stairs behind him. The scent of blood still clouds the air, no way of telling if it's man or beast, no way of knowing whether it was friend or foe._

" _Have you seen the light?" The voice asks. The light? What light could he be talking about? Curious, the Hunter takes a cautious step forward. His feet skim the surface of the bloody pool with each step, carefully touching down so as to not make a splash. He stretches his thumb to the top of his blunderbuss, slowly hooking a finger inside the hammer and pulling it back._

 _Moving closer to the small staircase, the Hunter stops as the voice's owner comes into view. Ludwig's head lay on it's side in the corner, mouth open as he sucks in shallow breaths. His milky eye twitches wildly, looking for something, for someone. It lands on the Hunter, shaking as it looks him over._

 _"I'm not-"_

" _Are my Church Hunters the honorable Spartans I hoped they would be?"_

 _The Hunter closes his mouth, sucking on his lips as he struggles to summon the words. He should tell him. He deserved to know that the Church had failed, that his Hunters had fallen into madness. Yet, what purpose would that serve? What purpose would it serve to tell a man that his life's work was meaningless?_

 _Dammit_

" _Yes," He finally answers_

" _Ah, good..." Ludwig sighs, the hint of a smile forming at the corners of his stretched lips. "That is a relief, to know I did not suffer such denigration for nothing." His words were slower, more drawn out than before._

" _Thank you kindly. Now I may sleep in peace." He pauses, eyes closing as he slips away. "Even in this darkest of nights, I see...the moonlight..."_

 _The muscles in his face relax as they slacken His lip fall to the ground, practically hanging off of the bone as he begins to snore._

* * *

Staring down at the severed head, the Hunter sneers. A glob of saliva flies from his mouth and lands on the beast's horse like snout. Liars and murderers, all of them. Risking others to protect their honor, and disposing of those who got to close to the truth. He should have told him the truth, he deserved to know that he had failed in upholding the Church's "dignity".

"Bastard,"

The glint of the arrow catches his eye once more. He tilts his head, perhaps the tip was still attached. He kneels down, wrapping his fingers around the shaft of the arrow and pulling. The large head moves with it, holding onto the arrow tightly; it was lodged rather deep, Simon must've shot him point blank.

With his other hand curled around the metal shaft and his left foot planted firmly on Ludwig's snout, he pulls once more. With a sickening squelch, the arrow comes free, the quicksilver head still attached. He removes the tip, storing the bullet in his pocket and tossing the headless shaft aside.

At least in death, these Hunters were still helpful.

The Hunter moves towards the stairs, hands resting comfortably in his pockets. He stops at the lantern. Something was wrong, he was here for a reason was he not? There had to be something for him to do, and yet nothing had come to mind.

 _Brinnng_

He cocks his head at the familiar sound. A bell? A beckoning bell? No, the pitch was far too low, too low to even be that of its sinister counterpart.

 _Brinnng_

His hand shakes as his fingers curl into a fist. It was him, the one who had been impeding his efforts in the Hamlet. The one who had murdered Simon. The Church's damned assassin.

 _Brinnng_

He walks towards the stairway, holding his arm out to his side. The ground bubbles and froths as a thin blade rises, carried by the messenger's small arms. The Hunter grips his Rakuyo with both hands and pulls, separating the saber from the dagger mounted on its pommel. He climbs the stairs, listening for the ring of the bell as he searches for the Assassin's phantom.

 _Brinnng_

The ringing grows louder and more focused as the Hunter turns the corner. He stops, gazing down the darkened hallway. The walls were lined with cell doors; some opened, and some still closed. No longer a low hum surrounding him, the Hunter could now hear the bell's chime echoing from down within the Assassin's cell. He walks closer, each step echoing through the corridor.

 _Brinnng_

A red tinted mist passes over the floor, spinning slowly as the last ring fades out. The assassin rises from the portal, his face hidden behind the beast hide cowl and his hand clenched tightly around the monstrous mace. The Hunter dashes forward, swinging his blade upwards. The sweet scent of fresh blood hits his nose as the warm fluid sprays from the wound, coating the wall and ceiling. The Assassin's feet shift and the Hunter steps back. The mace barely misses him as it crashes into the floor, cracking the stone tile.

Legs bent, he kicks back farther. His feet slide against the slick tiles as the distance between him and the assassin increases. His eyes narrow, searching for a weakness within his opponent. There wasn't much to use; his attire hadn't changed since their encounter on the bridge. The thick hide of his cowl meant that any chance of decapitation would be nigh impossible, though a well timed stab would sever his jugular if he could get in close enough. Strikes to his back would be useless, though the shock may stagger him long enough to deal some internal damage.

The Hunter shakes his head; he needed to focus. No matter what strategy he could come up with, it would mean nothing if he let his opponent transform his weapon. The tight confines of the corridor would make avoiding his opponent's attack practically impossible.

Dashing forward, the Hunter slashes downward. The edge of his blade collides with the fins of the mace, sending the Rakuyo sliding off to the left. The Hunter leans to the side, swinging his blade up and around. Sparks fly as it strikes the mace once more, bouncing off with a grating 'clang'. Needles poke each nerve in the Hunter's arm as the shock travels up to his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he continues his attack. Blood coats the walls as the two Hunters clash. Flesh is hacked and healed with each attack, leaving only shredded cloth hanging from their bloodied frames.

The Hunter ducks under a swing, his heart jumping into his throat as the head of the mace sails over him. He thrusts the blade forward, driving the steel deep into the Assassin's abdomen. Tightening his grip, the Hunter twists the blade and wrenches it to the side. He steps around his opponent, coating himself in the massive wave of blood spraying from the fresh wound. This was it, this was the end.

The dagger spins in the hand, carried by his fingers as his arm snakes around the Assassin's throat. He pulls his arm back, bringing the tip of the blade towards his opponent's carotid artery. Finally, one quick push and it would be over.

Fingers wrap around the Hunter's fist, catching it pulling the blade away. He resists, struggling to pull his arms back from his opponent's iron grip. The pressure around his hand increases, sending a wave of pain up his arm. He grits his teeth. He won't let him go. He won't let him win.

In the edge of his sight, the Assassin raises his mace, aiming the head downwards towards his stomach. His blood runs cold as the mace is plunged downward. With a sickening crack, the Hunter steps to the side and spins, shattering his wrist and freeing it from the Assassins grip.

Blood spray's from the Assassin's back, accompanied by a low pitched shriek. The head of the mace emerges; longer, and with a far more sinister appearance than it originally had. Spikes of bloodstone adorn the large ball at the end of the weapon's lengthened shaft. It shifts upward, carried by its wielder's weight as he falls to his knees. He heaves, regurgitating bright red blood onto the stone tiles. The Assassin coughs and raises his hand, reaching towards his cell. His arm smacks against the ground as his body goes limp.

"Dammit," The Hunter mutters, clutching his hand. Red hot pain burns through the broken bones, setting his nerves on fire. He inhales through his nose, loudly sucking in air as he holds his mouth shut. He releases his hand and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out something, a small glass vial. A dark red liquid swirls around the container, splashing behind a yellowed label.

"Ministration Blood" It reads

Biting down on the cork, the hunter pulls the top of with an audible 'pop, revealing one end of the needle. He breathes in, still hesitant despite his experience with the process. He knew how it worked, how the needle would puncture his vein with one end, while the other end would puncture the seal on the vial. He'd prefer not to do it this way, but as far as he knew, he couldn't ingest the blood orally.

He pushes the needle into his upper thigh. With a wet hiss, the contents empty from the vial and into his bloodstream. His skin pulls tight as the remaining cuts from his fight close, knit back together by regenerated flesh. His hand spasms, shaking and twitching as the bones shift back into place and conjoin. He grits his teeth, shutting his eyes as he struggles to withhold his outburst. It hurt like hell, even now, but screaming would only make it worse.

Feeling the pain subside, the Hunter opens his eyes and looks at his hand. He opens and closes his fist, working the stiffness from his fingers.

"All better"

Wiping the blood from his face with his newly healed hand, the Hunter turns to the Assassin's phantom. The body was gone, transported back to the cell of the bell's owner. At his feet lay the two pieces of the Rakuyo dropped and forgotten in his haste. He kneels and picks up the saber, turning it over in his hand and inspecting the blade. It wasn't knicked, but it could use a good sharpening after that fight. Returning the weapon to its singular form, the Hunter enters the narrow corridor leading down to the Assassin's cell. He takes each step with caution, his eyes narrowed as they dart back and forth, searching for any trap that may have been set.

 _Brinnng_

The bell grows louder, echoing through the corridor. He shakes his head; the sound was grating, but letting it distract him was a misstep one couldn't afford to take. He stops, standing before the thick, wooden door. He lowers his head, taking in a deep breath. Whatever was beyond this door, he had to be ready. He shuts his eyes and inhales once more.

"Do you hear this?" A voice asks from behind the door, accompanied by yet another chime of the bell.

"Fear the bell's toll." he warns, "For only death awaits prying eyes, and the Church assassins are never far behind."

The voice breaks into a sinister cackle, bouncing off of the walls and scraping against the Hunter's eardrums. He sneers; this man needed to die.

Reaching under his coat, he unhooks the key ring from his belt. The numerous keys jingle as he brings them closer to his eyes. Dozens of keys hang from the ring, shaking as the Hunter picks through them. He grips one; a slim iron key, rusted with age. Two teeth protrude from the pin, with the upper tooth extending to the opposite side. He drops the ring, allowing it to hang from the key as he inserts it into the lock and turns it. With a mechanical crank, the door parts from the frame.

"Well, well, look who's here."

The Church Assassin sits in the back of the cell, arm resting on his raised knee. The splintered remains of multiple beds surround him. His index finger curls inward, letting the silver bell dangle from his hand. With a slight jerk, the bell rings once more.

"Welcome to my quarters," The Assassin greets. He makes a gesture, as though he were inviting the Hunter to take a seat.

"I've never entertained a guest before." He remarks, continuing to ring his bell. The Hunter enters the room, approaching the Assassin. His grip on the Rakuyo tightens.

"Are you going to kill me?" The Assassin asks. The Hunter remains quiet. "After all you've done, kill me, as if to right your wrongs?" He laughs again, a far more subdued chuckle than before, but a laugh nonetheless. The Hunter pulls his arm back, aiming the tip of the Rakuyo down towards the Assassin's head. He stabs downward.

* * *

The Hunter exits the corridor of cells, descending the steps to the lamp. Blood drips from his Rakuyo, leaving a spotty trailer of dark red behind him. He inhales. He holds the air in his lungs for a moment before releasing it, allowing his posture to relax. Messengers rise from the lamp as he steps closer, reaching up towards the luminescent bulb. He takes a knee, reaching his hand out over the bulb as if he were to grab it. The ground beneath him begins to glow; ashes rise with the beams of light as his eyes grow heavy. He leans forward, allowing the sweet embrace of sleep to take him.


	2. A Pleasant Departure

**Hey guys, so my scheduling for this was totally botched, sorry about that. Hopefully the amount of time I spent polishing this will help make up for it. It's not as long as my first chapter, and even that wasn't as long as some of the more top notch stories in this section. Still, I hope you enjoy it.**

 _"Only a few measures left."_

 _That's what he kept whispering to himself as he continued to tap the keys of the piano. Was it a warning? Or was it merely a reminder, something to ease the stress of playing and to let him know that the window for error was quickly closing? Regardless of what it was, it helped._

 _He takes in a deep breath and exhales, he needed to focus. He couldn't afford to make a mistake now; there were too few people in the hall. One wrong key and the audience would most certainly notice._

" _Two measures now."_

 _A pit forms in his chest, just below his solar plexus. The anticipation was beginning to get to him. God, he was going to botch it, wasn't he? He had been playing for nearly an hour and now, at the very end of his performance, he was going to make of mess of it all._

 _His arms begin to burn as the stress travels down them, creeping over his hands and stopping just below the knuckles. The discomfort sits there, sinking into his joints and taunting him, urging him to make an error._

 _No._

 _He wouldn't ruin this, he couldn't. Too much was riding on the success of this performance, too many people needed the money. Breathe, that's all he had to do, just breath and focus. The rest would come naturally, as it always had._

" _One measure,"_

 _The pacing of the music slows as it shifts from the smooth melodic taps to a firm chopping of the keys. His hands stiffen as he changes the pattern, angling his fingers to better suit him._

 _One-and two three, one-and two three. He taps his heel against the floor, using the impact as a sort of metronome. The pattern continues for a moment longer before he sharply strikes the keys and pulls his hands from the keyboard. The chord echoes through the hall, bouncing off the walls and the arched ceiling. His presses his foot down, depressing the rightmost pedal and sustaining the chord further._

 _His hands move to play the next chord, only stopped mere hairs away from the keys._

" _Not just yet," He whispers to himself. His fingers twitch to finish the piece. "Hold it."_

 _He counts the seconds of the chord's duration, biting his lip as his fingers hover above the keyboard._

 _Two seconds._

" _Hold,"_

 _Three seconds._

" _Hold"_

 _Five seconds_

" _Hold"_

 _Seven seconds._

 _Now!_

 _He brings his hands down, slamming them against the keys in a flurry of notes. His fingers dance wildly along the length the length of the the claviature as music gushes from the piano. So close, he was so close the end._

 _His fingers tense as he attacks the keys once more, pulling his hands away and raising them above his head. With a flourish, he pulls his arms away, extending them behind his back. He doesn't press the pedal this time, instead allowing the note to fade out on its own. The sound echoes through the hall, over the heads of the fifty or so people in attendance as it slowly fades into an uncomfortable silence._

 _Silence...not good._

 _Beads of perspiration drip from his forehead, splashing onto the floor as he struggles to catch his breath. Why weren't they doing anything anything? Why weren't they making any noise? No booing, no applause, nothing. Were they stunned by his performance, was that it? No, dammit; he must've made a mistake during the performance. That must've been why they were silent, it must've been. Dammit, he was ruined, wasn't he? He'd never be able to perform here again._

' _Clap...Clap'_

 _The clapping starts slow, possibly only one or two people applauding out of the entire audience. Soon it begins to speed up, gaining traction within the crowd as they rise, one by one. Growing progressively louder and more enthusiastic by the second, the audience soon erupts into a storm of acclaim; clapping, screaming, possibly even a whistle or two. His chest tightens; they liked his playing._

" _They liked me…" His mumbled words felt almost like a lie as they passed his lips. "They liked my playing…"_

 _He would be lying if he said that he hadn't expected for some people to enjoy his music, but to receive a standing ovation from the entirety of the audience? It was almost surreal._

 _He stands, dizzy, nauseous, and uncertain of how long he could remain on his feet, and bows. It was a professional bow, long and deep, leaving his head low enough for his bangs to brush against the floor, but it was also one filled with emotion. He shakes as he rises, nearly falling as his knees begin to give out. He catches himself, putting his left leg out to the side before turning and disappearing behind the thick curtain._

" _That was amazing!" His sister shouts, running up and trapping him in a hug. His spine pops as her arms tighten around him. Only after a liberal application of force did she finally release him from her grasp, opting to instead stare up at him with her typical toothy grin._

" _I must agree with the little one," The short woman states "It was a rather enjoyable performance. I'm glad to see you've taken my lessons to heart."_

 _Looking to her eyes, he could see that the stern look that seemed to be permanently etched into her face had faded away, revealing a prideful and warming smile._

" _Thank you," He nods, "I am pleased that I was able to live up to your expectations, and I've nothing but appreciation for your tutelage."_

" _Think nothing of it," She dismisses, "Though I do hope this sticks with you, boy. I trust the little one will make sure of that, correct?_

" _Yes Ma'am," His sister agrees. She turns back to him, smiling once again._

" _So how do you feel?" she asks, "You must be tired after all of that."_

" _To be honest, I feel rather weak," He presses a hand to his head, massaging his temple as a painful throbbing begins to spread._

 _Dammit, that pain again._

 _He takes a step back, barely managing to place his foot on the ground._

" _Big brother?"  
"Shay?" _

_The two speak in unison, reaching out towards him as though to catch him. He holds his arm out, waving it dismissively._

" _I'm fine," He lies, rubbing his temple again. "Just a little light headed." He steadies himself and steps forward. "Just…."_

 _His leg buckles.._

 _Gravity shifts as his body falls forward, its descent stopped by the hard surface of the wooden floor. A sharp pain wraps across his forehead as it smacks against a plank. His ears ring, filled with a high pitched whine similar to what one would hear when too close to an explosion of some sort. Why was this happening? What was happening?_

 _Voices call out, one screaming his name as the other shouts for help. Who were they? He should recognize their faces, shouldn't he? They were all there, down to the smallest detail. And yet...they would cloud over as he attempted to recall their names._

 _A word comes to him. Only a word, yet it felt...significant, for lack of a better description. Perhaps a name?_

" _Clo…" He croaks out. His throat burned just saying it, the words searing his throat as they passed through._

" _Clove.." He repeats. More of the word is forced out of his throat this time, numbing the last of the nerves lining it. A hand presses against his forehead as his vision begins to darken._

" _Clover..."_

* * *

The Hunter sits upright, jumping as a force jolts him awake. He pushes himself up from the cobblestone path, standing on unsteady legs as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. His entire body hurt. Dammit, he hated that feeling he was left with whenever he awoke in the Dream. No matter how many times he had utilized the lamps, he always came out the other end feeling as though he'd been pushed through a thin pipe, far too small to fit through without being reduced to a bloody paste. And yet, every time, he awoke in the Dream, unharmed.

At least physically.

He presses a hand to his covered eye, slipping his fingers under the fringe and rubbing around the socket. Dammit, he'd thought these migraines were gone for good. Why were they coming back? No...He couldn't worry about that now. That dream, that's what was important. He needed to concentrate, to memorize as many details as he could before it was gone. What exactly had he seen? That name... **those** names. He had called the girl's name, what was it again? Clove? Like...the spice? No, that was absurd. Dammit, what was it?

 _Think, dammit, think!_

He sighs; it was no use. The dream was gone, faded back into the recesses of his memory. If luck was on his side, then perhaps it would return to him, creeping back to the front of his mind as he slept.

Then again, recent events didn't exactly mark him as the "lucky" type.

Rubbing his temples, the Hunter turns around. His eyes narrow as the bright orange flames beat against them, blinding him with a near white light.

" _Glad to see they've added some color to this place."_

He chuckles at the thought, relishing his own wit as he watches the flames rise into the sky. How long would it be before the conflagration reduced the Workshop to ash?

The Doll remained in her place, standing at the foot of the stairs, her skeletal hands clasped together as she awaited her Hunter. Looking close, one could see the glint of an ornate pick poking out from her hair, partially hidden by the small cap she always wore.

She seemed calm, too calm, even for her. Almost as though she were unaware of the bonfire raging behind her. Unsettling as it was, the Hunter approaches her without hesitation. In a swirl of misty smoke, his weapon and hat disappear, leaving his hands free and his hair hanging loose.

She looks up, taking note of her Hunter's return, and smiles. A warmth spreads from the Hunter's chest as he smiles back at her. That smile... **her** smile... it was just so...warm, if that was the proper word. Like a flame that burned away the terror of the night, he would embrace it, allowing its warmth to sink into his being and melt away his fears. It was clear that she wasn't human, merely a replication of a person, an empty vessel brought to life by the power of the dream.. Disregarding the ball joints that connected her fingers, or the smooth paleness of her porcelain skin, one need only speak to her to realize as much. Her emotions, her thoughts, most times it was as though they didn't exist. Occasionally she would pray, kneeling before the headstone leading into the Hunter's Nightmare, and voicing her wishes for the Hunter's wellbeing. Through the eternal night, however, it was the smile she wore when greeting the Hunter that proved far more insightful to her true thoughts.

"Welcome home, Good Hunter," She greets in her monotone voice. "Gehrman awaits you, at the foot of the great tree.."

"I will make sure to pay him a visit," He acknowledges, "But I require your assistance first. I must be rid of these echoes, I don't think my mind can contain them much longer."

The Doll nods and smiles once more.

"Very well," She says, "let the echoes become your strength." She kneels and holds out her hand, offering it to the Hunter. "Let me stand close, now shut your eyes."

The Hunter steps closer, gently placing his hand in her palm and shutting his eyes, just as instructed. A soothing chill passes over him, travelling deep within his being as the Doll absorbs the echoes of his slain foes. The memories begin to fade, leeched away from his subconscious and replaced with a renewed strength. The Doll releases his hand, and the Hunter opens his eyes. With a kind smile, she nods her head and curtsies. The Hunter bows in return.

"Farewell, Good Hunter."

"Farewell."

Turning away from the Doll, the Hunter makes his way to the base of the incline, walking down the curved path and stopping in front of the large wrought iron gate. He presses his hands against the bars and pushes. The gate creaks open, leaving pale scuff marks as the iron bars scrape against the ground. Soon he can push it no further.

With caution, the Hunter passes through the gate.

"What is this?" He wonders aloud, his eyes cutting left and right with each step. Slowly, he nears the end, eventually exiting the narrow path. He stops, releasing the tension in his body as his eyes drink in the sight before him.

 _Beautiful_

The rising hill was covered in flowers, with petals so white they seemed to glow under the moonlight. They shift in the wind, moving like a coat of fur covering the dirt they had risen from.

He walks towards the far end of the field, passing the wooden structures that rise from the dirt. He double takes, looking back towards the shapes standing in the soil. Were they crosses? He looks closer; they most definitely were. Odd, they must've been set here for a reason, and yet they seemed untended. Dozens of dark green vines coiled around the posts, climbing up to wrap around the wooden arms. How long had they been like this?

Refocusing on the wall of graves before him, the Hunter approaches. They were ancient, at least by a century old judging by how worn they were. Cracks and chips covered the rounded edges, and the names were near illegible, but one could only assume they were Hunters. He presses a hand to one of the headstones, running his palm over the grey surface. Even with the leather between his skin and the stone, he could feel how rough the stone was. He could only imagine how many there were lining this wall alone. Dozens perhaps, if not more. Maybe there was a marker for Eileen, as well the other Hunters taken by this bloody night.

Pain stabs at his chest, twisting and knotting his stomach. The Hunter turns away, no longer able to bear the memories summoned by these stones.

Looking towards the crest of the hill, the Hunter spies Gehrman, patiently awaiting him at the foot of an enormous oak. He approaches, climbing the hill with little haste. The flowers shake and sway with each step he takes, seeming to lean to the side and out of the way of his feet as he passes by them.

Reaching the top of the hill, the Hunter kneels, lowering his head and shutting his eyes.

"Rise," Gehrman wheezes. The Hunter stands, straightening his posture and staring down at the old man. He takes a step back, placing the two at eye level.

"You summoned me?"

"Yes," Gehrman confirms, giving a slight nod. His long fingers curl around his cane. "Good Hunter, you've done well, the night is near its end."

Relief grips the Hunter's chest. Finally, it was over. The Hunt that he had been trapped was finally ending.

"Now I will show you mercy." The old man continues, "You will die, forget the dream, and awake under the morning sun." Reflexively, the Hunter steps back. He reaches behind him, wrapping his fingers around the grip of his Blunderbuss. Gehrman didn't intend to kill him now, did he? After all he had done, his own master was to kill him?

"You will be freed from this terrible Hunter's Dream."

Without taking his hand away from his weapon, the Hunter considers his options. He didn't want to die, he'd suffered the torture of endless death and resurrection long enough. But he didn't want to remain linked to this dream forever, cursed to fulfill the duties of a Hunt he was thrown into. He wanted to leave it behind. Perhaps there was another meaning behind Gehrman's words. "Awaken under the morning sun," He had said. Would he actually awaken? In the true Yharnam no less? He looks back towards the gravestones, a thought forming. Hunters had come before him, the doll had said as much. He knew Eileen and Djura had both been connected to the dream, and yet they spoke as though they no were no longer a part of it.

"Why?" He asks, "Why would you want to sever me from the dream?"

The old man shakes his head and looks down at his cane.

"Tell me, Good Hunter, what is your name?"

The Hunter opens his mouth to answer, but stops at the last moment, unsure of how to respond. Why would he ask such an odd question?

"Come again?" He finally asks.

"Your name," Gehrman repeats, "What is it?"

The Hunter falls silent as he tries to recall his name. He searches his mind, sifting through memory after memory, hoping to find something of value.

No avail, he was nameless; the memory of his identity distorted by the blood, and his one chance to remember having slipped through his fingers mere minutes ago. It was already starting, his corruption. He knew the process all too well. A Hunter would lose their memories, their identity along with it. He had seen how it played out before, with Gascoigne in the tomb. Loss of self, and soon loss of body. That was the fate that awaited him.

Sighing, Gehrman reaches into his coat. Paper crinkles in his hand as he retrieves something. Arm shaking, the old Hunter pulls out a roll of parchment, ancient and yellowed. He holds it out in front of him, gesturing towards the Hunter.

"Take this," His voice was far to weak, but the Hunter recognized it as an order. He takes the paper in his hand, gingerly pulling on the string that held it closed.

"Not here, good Hunter."

He stops, looking up from the roll and back to his master.

"This is my contract, isn't it?"

Gehrman nods.

"The blood corrupt all," Gehrman states, his voice little more than a hushed wheeze, "Even the strongest of Hunters will succumb to it. You have served well, and for that, I wish to reward you.."

The Hunter nods. The old man's words made sense. If submitting his life meant his freedom, if it meant that he would no longer risk falling victim to the blood, then submit his life he would.

"I accept"

Gehrman flashes a small, warming smile.

"Farewell, my keen Hunter."

"Fear the Old Blood." The chant in unison.

"Now kneel."

The Hunter turns from his master, taking several steps down the hill before stopping. He kneels, digging his knees into the ground and lowering his head.

Gehrman's wheelchair creaks behind him, almost as though he were rising from it. Looking to the bottom edge of his vision, he see it. The silhouette of the old Hunter's shadow growing taller, standing on two thin legs. Metal brushes against cloth as the Hunter shuts his eyes, inhaling deeply. He couldn't deny that he was scared. He was taking a leap into the unknown, and he was terrified.

Even the wind seemed to stop as he watches Gehrman's shadow reel his arms back, the shape of a monstrous scythe raised above his head. It was only for a moment that he was still, but it felt as though years had past before the scythe began to swing. With the whistle of the wind, and an instant of hot, searing pain, the Hunter's sight fades to nothing.

 **So our Hunter is officially severed from the dream, what do you think will happen next, huh? Anyway, thanks for reading through my second chapter, I'll have the next one out as soon as I can, and I hope you enjoyed this. Please favorite AND REVIEW, can't get enough reviews, whether it's praise or criticisms, every bit helps. Again, I'm sorry for the short length of this chapter, I'm aware there's much better stories out there with far longer chapters, so I would like to thank you for choosing to read this one. To returning readers as well as new ones, I love you guys, you're all pretty great, and I look forward to seeing your thoughts on this. Until next time.**


	3. Rising Sun

**So, I'm sure a few of you have been itching to see the next chapter in this after a month of waiting. I'll warn you, there's some issues with this that even I couldn't work out, and only one of them isn't about the narrative. Seriously though, don't try and copy paste from google docs to word for spellcheck, pasting it back on the word doc fucks of the formatting in the most annoying way. Any way, sorry if this doesn't quite make the cut, but I hope you guys enjoy it anyway.**

* * *

The Hunter's body shoots upright, his eyes wild as his senses return to him in full force. He shuts his eyes tightly, unable to bear the blinding sunlight breaking through canopy of leaves above him. He presses his hands to his head, shaking as he tries to rid himself of the pain. Too much, everything was too much; the chirping of the birds like needles stabbing at his eardrums, the rays of the sun scorching his skin.

 _Make it stop, please make it stop._

He leans forward, pressing a numb hand onto his knee, and pushes himself up. He rises from the cold that surrounds him, struggling to stand as the water tries hold him down. He opens his eyes to look for solid ground, only to immediately shut them, unable to bear the harsh colors and bright lights for even a moment.

 _'I guess I'll have to rely on something other than sight for a moment'_

"Shit!"

The Hunter shouts as his elbow buckles, sending him face first into the water. A blanket of cold envelops him, surrounding him and seeping through his clothes and into his skin. His arms swing in wild, uncoordinated circles as he tries to roll over.

 _'Cold, ice cold.'_

Water sprays from his mouth as his head breaches the surface. He sputters, trying to rid himself of the dry, chalky taste. He rises to his feet, clumsily dragging himself onto the bank before falling onto his stomach and rolling over. The water drains from his clothes, leeched into the soil beneath him.

"Dammit," He, curses, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling of leaves. The few rays of sunlight that broke through had grown duller, no longer blinding him with their overwhelming radiance. The leaves themselves had changed as well, their once unbearably strong fluorescence replaced by a much softer shade of green. He groans, folding his arm over his eyes. His head still hurt, but at least his senses had adjusted properly.

"What is this place?" He wonders aloud. He sits up, rubbing his eyes. Trees, trees everywhere. A forest of sorts, but he'd never seen one so dense; even the forbidden woods allowed for some moonlight to shine down. Here, it was merely a few scant rays pushing through the cracks in the canopy.

Standing, the Hunter reaches behind him for his weapon, only to find himself grabbing at an empty sling. His heart jumps as he feels the limp leather, pressing the sides together between his fingers. His hand moves further down, hoping to find his blunderbuss hanging just beneath the sling.

' _Dammit, nothing.'_

He pats around his body, digging into his pockets and running his hands along his sides. He had to have something on him; a knife, a Molotov. Hell, he'd settle for a pebble if it meant he had some form of defense.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

He throws his hands up in frustration. Nothing. No weapons, no blood vials, even the knife he had tucked away in his boot was gone. The dream had stripped him of everything but the clothes on his back.

 _Wait…_

The Hunter pats his head, running his fingers over his wet, dirt covered hair. He looks to the ground, scanning over the forest floor around him.

His hat was gone.

"Son of a bitch," He curses, falling onto his back.

' _What do I do now?'_

He stares up at the branches above him. Orange rays still poke through the leaves, slowly shifting in color as the Sun changes its position. Judging by the light's growing paleness, it was still morning, maybe two or three hours past sunrise. If he got moving, odds were he'd find somewhere to hole up eventually. Shelter came first and foremost, at least until he could gather his thoughts and formulate a proper plan.

Sitting up, the Hunter looks towards the stream. The water ran fast along its path, digging deeper into the rock bed below it. It couldn't be more than three feet deep and likely fed out into a larger body.

He stands and walks to the creek, kneeling down and looking into the water. No impurities or contaminating debris were present, save for the occasional leaf or twig. If it was clean, then perhaps there was somewhere close by that would provide some respite, maybe a town of sorts. He could only hope that the citizens there wouldn't try to kill him this time.

Standing, the Hunter turns and walks, keeping himself adjacent to the stream. Leaves fold and twigs snap under his boots as he treks through the wood, while his eyes continue to shift from side to side, wary of any crack or rustle in the brush around him. He needed to be careful, any slip up could cost him dearly, and there were no second chances anymore. He was no longer a Hunter of the dream; his next death would be his last.

The Hunter turns as leaves shake behind him, hand instinctively grabbing for his absent weapon. His body tenses as he searches for the disturbance, looking upward towards the source of the noise. A bird, no bigger than his palm, stands on the grey branches, while leaves float to the ground below it, swaying from side to side as they descend. It must've dropped through the treetops.

The Hunter's muscles ease as he stares at the bird. It was curious breed, with a relaxed swirl of colors layered over one another.

* * *

" _Come on!" Clover demands, running even further ahead._

 _"I'm coming;" I holler back, "Just stop running ahead all the time"_

 _"Dammit," I curse to myself. I press a hand to my chest, hoping to ease the sharp burn under my sternum. Why did I agree to this? I should be at home, resting. The doctor had done a well enough job drilling that into my skull, why was I disobeying his orders?_

 _"Shay, look!"_

 _I look up from the ground to see Clover, smiling as wide as she possibly could. A bird stood on her arm, seemingly unaware of the child currently staring at it. Its feathers downright dazzling; a beautiful mix of colors, all stacked upon one another along the length of its back._

 _Right, that's why._

 _I quicken my pace, closing the distance between my sister and I. She stands perfectly still, grinning as the bird walks along the sleeve of her coat. I move to shoo the bird away, stopping myself at the last moment. It was a small bird, much too small for its talons to cause any damage to Clover's arm, even if she hadn't put on her coat. I pull my arm back and smile. She was happy, who was I to ruin the moment for her?_

 _I turn away and look around, hoping to find a large tree or rock; something I could sit and lean against. I spot one only a few yards away, a tree thick enough to support my back. Clover would still be well within my sight from there, perfect._

 _"I'm going to rest my feet a bit," I announce, turning to look at her. Her attention shifts from the bird to me. Her smile falters briefly, but she nods. Turning away from her, I walk towards the tree. I press my back against the trunk and slowly slide down to a seated position, grunting as the painful relief of pressure spreads through my feet. I slip my hand into my pocket and grip the watch, holding onto it tightly. My vision blurs, slowly encompassed by darkness. How long had it been since I had slept well? Two, three weeks? Three weeks of being kept up with the coughing and the pain. I shake my head and look back to Clover. Another bird of the same breed had landed on her arm, nuzzling into the other's neck. She snickers, trying to hold in her laughter so as to not scare off her new friends. Cute._

 _"She'll be fine," I mumble to myself, giving in to the fatigue that had been wearing me down for the past month. The tension eases from my back as my body relaxes, slowly molding to the shape of my seat._

 _"HELP!"_

 _My eyes open and my body jolts up. I look towards where Clover was, or where she was supposed to be._

 _"Clover?"_

 _I force myself to stand, ignoring the aching pain shooting through my legs._

 _"Clover!" I shout. Where was she? Dammit. This wasn't good._

 _"HELP ME, SOMEONE!"_

 _My head twists in the direction of Clover's voice. Her shrill cry still echoed through the trees as I broke into a run. Please let her be safe, please let her be okay._

 _The forest had changed; we weren't in the woods outside of town anymore. The brown bark of the trees had blackened, becoming like that of scorched coals. The branches now hung lower, the jagged tips scratching against my face as I passed them._

 _"SHAY!" Clover screams again._

 _"I'M COMING!" I scream back. Please let her be okay, please let her be okay._

* * *

"HELP!"

The Hunter shakes his head, stumbling as he attempts to refocus his thoughts. What was that? A dream? A memory?

"SOMEONE, PLEASE!"

His head whips in the direction of the voice. There was someone out here, in danger most definitely. Spinning on his heel, the Hunter breaks away from the creek and sprints into the wood. Branches snap and dirt flies from the ground behind him as he makes his way deeper into the forest. What was he going to do? He had no weapons, no utilities, not even a single blood vial. He would be defenseless against whatever was causing her distress.

 _'Perhaps she isn't being attacked'_ He wonders. Accidents happen, do they not? She could be hanging from a tree, or caught under a log. Maybe she was simply lost.

"HELP ME!" The girl screams again. Her cry was lower this time, rough and scratchy. Dammit, whatever the situation may be, he needed to hurry. Her cry was the only thing that would lead him to her position. If she stopped screaming, he may never find her.

 _"Mr. Hunter"_

The Hunter shakes his head.

"No, no, no, no, no," He stammers. He had to hurry. He couldn't be too late, not this time, not again.

The Hunter stops as he reaches the source of the cries, sliding on the wet grass as he slows himself to a halt. His heart freezes as he watches the scourge beast claw the tree, shaking the trunk as it tries to reach its prey. The blood, the plague, it was here too. Dammit.

"HELP!" The girl cries once more, clinging tightly to the branch. The force of the beast's shaking would knock her off eventually, he had to move fast.

"What do I do," He mumbles. He looks to the forest floor around him. There had to be something he could use.

The Beast shakes the tree once more, partially dislodging the girl from the branch. She screams, kicking her feet wildly in as she holds on for dear life.

Dammit.

Sprinting, the Hunter turns and lowers his body, aiming the tip of his shoulder towards the beasts' ribs. He rams into the creature, knocking both off of their feet. The Hunter winces as they fall, gripping his shoulder as they land roughly against the hard forest floor. The Hunter feels his stomach twist as his body is tossed over the beast and into the air. He lands on the ground hard, rolling further from the beast. Gritting his teeth against the pain, the Hunter twists and pushes his body into a semi upright position, digging his hand and feet into the ground to slow himself. He stands, sucking air between his teeth as he feels his right shoulder. It was definitely dislocated, either from the initial impact against beast, or his graceless landing afterwards.

With a snarl, the beast rises to its feet, turning to look at the Hunter. He steps back, taking in the creature's peculiar appearance. This wasn't a typical scourge beast. No, this one had much darker fur, with bone protrusions lining its arms and legs, all lined towards the white mask covering its face. The closest to its appearance he could recall were the beasts in the hidden village, Yahar'gul. Something had changed them, turning them inside out, and fusing multiple human limbs to them. Perhaps something similar had happened to this one.

Without any hesitation, the beast lunges, missing the hunter by mere hairs as he steps to the side. Pivoting, the beast swipes its claws at his stomach. The Hunter kicks back, distancing himself from the beast. He thinks back to his first death in Iosefka's clinic, how he had foolishly attempted to take on a beast empty handed. He was wiser now. He knew blow for blow, the beast would best him. He had to get behind it, stun it and rip its insides out.

Dashing towards the beast, the Hunter ducks under its claw and rises, folding his arm and swinging it upward. His elbow strikes the underside of the its jaw, giving a satisfying smack as the creature's head swings upward.

 _'Now's my chance,'_

Rearing his arm back, the Hunter dashes around the beast, stopping close to its back. He launches his arm forward, aiming for where its kidneys would be. The strike wouldn't do much damage, but it would stun it. Those few moments would be all he'd need to finish it.

His arm springs forward, hurtling towards the creature. The Hunter's eyes widen as hungry smile forms at his lips. His vision narrows, focusing solely on his target. It was there again, that shaking anticipation he always felt before he bested a foe. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than the carnage of tearing out its guts. Moving its insides to the outside and bathing in its blood.

His fist sails through the empty air as a sharp pain cuts through his left side. He feels the blood begin to pour almost immediately, seeping into his clothes and running down his skin. He drops to his knees, pressing his hand to his side in an attempt to stem the bleeding. A red stain begins to form beneath his hand, slowly spilling out between his fingers. He looks to his left; the beast stands mere feet away from him, bloody scraps of his coat still hanging from its claws. He looks to the beast's eyes and shudders. There was nothing there, no hunger, no need to defend itself. As vicious as they were, the beasts of Yharnam, at least the more common ones, functioned one pure animal instinct. If they hungered, they would hunt and eat. If they were threatened, they would fight to defend themselves. This creature...there was nothing like that in its eyes, only the desire to kill. He was a mere target in its eyes. Not prey, not a threat. A target.

Pushing himself to his feet, the Hunter takes a clumsy step back. He glances down at his wound; the blood had already dripped down his leg, staining his trousers and soaking into the dirt. He needed to think of something, and fast.

'CRACK'

The Hunter looks towards the noise to see the beast gripping its head as a rock bounces along the ground, stopping only inches from his foot.

"Leave him alone!" The girl shouts from behind a tree. The beast turns towards her, snarling and growling. It lowers itself onto all fours, taking slow, disoriented steps.

 _'No'_

The Hunter steps forward, pushing himself as far as possible with each stride. All he had to do was make it bleed. All he needed was to feel its blood splash onto him, to feel his skin tighten as the wounds knit back together. He wasn't going to die. Not now, not here, and certainly not while there were still beasts to be hunted down. He pulls his arm back once more, launching it forward with all the force he could muster. His fist strikes the beast. It stumbles and falls, limbs splayed out unceremoniously.

Biting back the pain, the Hunter dashes around his prey, stopping directly in front of the creature. His fist shoots forward, straight into the beast's maw. He pushes further, forcing his arm down its throat. It gags and bites down, its sharp teeth cutting into the Hunter's arm. He grimaces and pushes even deeper, until his entire arm disappears into the beast's mouth. He grabs at whatever he can in the hot, wet sack that was its gullet, and pulls, wrenching his hand to the side as it slides out. A wet, slimy tissue rips from the creature's throat as the force knocks both of them back. The Hunter sits up, his vision blurring as his blood continues to drain from his side.

 _'It...didn't bleed?'_

He looks to the creature, lying limp on its back as its body begins to disperse, pieces of its skin rising like ash as the corpse shrinks. This was no beast. As much as it looked like one, this creature was far different from any Yharnam beast.

Standing, the Hunter takes an unsteady step forward, dropping down as his knee gives. He hisses as he removes his hand from his side, looking down to inspect the wound. It was bad; three lacerations, god knows how deep, stretched across his side. Blood still poured from the wounds, albeit more slowly than before.

"Are you okay?"

The Hunter looks up at the girl; she was a little one, maybe seven or eight years, but no more than ten. Her eyes had been stained red with tears, and her blonde hair was matted with dirt and debris of all sorts. She takes a step closer, holding out a tentative hand.

"I'm fine," He answers, wincing as he stands. "Only a scratch,"

The girl looks down, rocking on her feet. She opens and closes her mouth, as though she were unsure of what to say.

"Are you unharmed?" The Hunter asks, breaking the painful silence. The girl nods quickly, her eyes still glancing at his side.

"Good."

More silence.

"My Papa's a doctor," She states, "He can help you; he always helps me when I get hurt."

 _'A doctor, huh? Doesn't seem like a bad idea.'_

"You and your Father, where you live?"

"Our village is right by the river,"

 _'Knew it'_

"Could you take me there?"

She nods.

"Then let's go."

The Hunter struggles to his feet, grimacing as his shredded garments brush against his wounds.

"This way," The girl calls out. The Hunter follows. The two pass through the trees, reaching the creek the Hunter had awoken in.

"Thank you for helping me," The girl says, "I thought that monster was gonna eat me."

"He might've," The Hunter notes passively. "Though you seem to have had a proper understanding of its capabilities."

"What?"

"You knew you'd be safe in the tree."

"Oh,"

The two continue walking along the creek, the Hunter watching it closely as it begins to deepen.

"Thank you," He says, his eyes affixed on the path ahead, "For helping me too."

"Your welcome," The girl responds sweetly. He glances down, catching the flash of a smile.

They walk the rest of the way in silence, chewing through the distance as quickly as they could manage. Feeling his head sway, the hunter removes his coat, tying the sleeves tightly around his waist. The left sleeve was ruined, soaked with blood and saliva. The same could be said for the sleeve of his shirt; the white cloth now a stained a dark maroon. He rips the sleeve of, pulling it tight and wrapping it around his arm. Fresh red stain begin to appear under the the makeshift bandage. He didn't care. He'd have to dispose of these clothes sooner or later, what would a little more blood hurt?

Soon the forest begins to clear, the volume of trees slowly decreasing before disappearing entirely. Rooftops began to rise from the ground ahead, growing higher and larger in number the closer they got. The Hunter feels his stomach knot; this was larger than what he was expecting.

Continuing forward, the two cut onto the stone road leading to the villages entrance. A single sentry stands at the entrance, hand place on his weapon, and with a fire in his eye that told the Hunter he was prepared to use it.

The sentry spots the two; his grip on his weapon tightens, but he doesn't draw. "Who goes there?" He calls out, taking a step towards them. The Hunter steps in front of the girl, placing himself between her and the guard.

"Mr. Lee, it's me." The girl answers, leaning out from behind the Hunter's back. "It's me, Luna."

"Luna?" He repeats, shocked. "Oh thank dust."

Several people begin to gather, attracted by the commotion. Soon they begin to swarm the two, hugging the girl and crying joyfully. The Hunter backs away, unable to bear the density of the crowd or their deafening voices. His vision blurs and his head begins to lighten. The world twists around him, sending him to the ground. He looks up, rubbing his eyes.

His heart freezes.

A mob of Yharnamites surround him, drawing closer as they hurl their foul mouthed abuse. Blood drips from the lesions on their hair covered skin, staining their already filthy clothes. Why were they here? He wasn't in Yharnam anymore, he had left that damned town.

"Get away from me," He demands, his voice shaking as he pushes himself back from he mob. His head throbs, pushing outward behind his eyes. They draw closer, tightening the circle they had formed around him. They ready their weapons; axes raised and pitchforks angled downward.

"Get away," The Hunter repeats. His body shakes as his head grows heavier.

"Get...Away…"

* * *

 **So, our Hunter is officially in remnant, and he's tripping out. Oh, and who else thought that every village had a giant wall around the perimeter? Like seriously, I had no idea there were some like that until the past couple episodes. Anyway, I hope you guys liked the chapter, and I hope you follow and comment. Like seriously, comment. Leave reviews. It's important, it lets me know what you think and what the problems are. Was this good? or was it the S7 premier of the walking dead. I must know.**

 **Seriously though, I love you guys, thanks for the support, and I should have the next chapter out within the month.**

 **P.S. What do you guys think works better? Third Person, or first? I've been floating between the two and it'd be nice to get some outside opinions.**

 **P.P.S. Anyone wanna guess where in Remnant the Hunter woke up? It'll be revealed next chapter, but you'll at least get bragging rights.**

 **P.P.S. Sorry if you guys get a false update, I noticed some stuff I wanted to fix and took care of it.**


	4. New Faces

**Hey, so I'm sure you guys might be a little steamed, so sorry for taking so long. A lot of things got in the way, and on top of that I need to replace the battery for my laptop. Again, I'm sure there's plenty wrong with this chapter despite triple checking, but regardless, I hope you enjoy. I hope the majority of you guys haven't lost interest due to the amount of time It took for me to write this.**

* * *

 _The wind howls as the man races through the street, moving as fast as his bleeding leg can carry him. This was wrong, this was all wrong. This town was supposed to help, they were supposed to cure him. He was there, in that clinic with the needle in his arm. He should be fine, he should be on the carriage, riding back to town, back to Clover. But he wasn't, he was here, being chased by maniacs and fucking werewolves. What the hell was going on? This couldn't be real, it had to be some sort of twisted nightmare brought on by the transfusion. It had to be, there was no other explanation that could explain this. But if it were true, then why couldn't he wake up?_

 _"Shit!"_

 _The man shouts as his foot catches on a stone, sending his body toppling to the ground. He hits it hard, an audible 'crack' echoes off the alley walls. He hisses as the pain crawls up his leg, sinking deep into the muscle. He looks behind him, watching as the orange glow of torches grows larger and more intense. He had to move, he had to get up and find somewhere to hide._

 _Using the wall for support, the man pulls himself to his feet, leaving a smear of blood on the bricks. He pushes off, steadying himself as he begins to move forward. The pain was near unbearable, but it was necessary. He couldn't just sit and wait to die, he wouldn't. Clover was waiting for him, he couldn't leave her there all alone._

 _The alley's end came soon, feeding back into the street near the gate. Anxious and unfocused, the man looks around, hoping to find some sort of haven amidst the scent of blood and smoke. He looks to the stairs, seeing the welcoming glow of a lantern shining over the stone steps. Moving fast, the man climbs the stairs and limps to the door, impacting with the all the force his body could muster before knocking harshly against the wood._

 _"Please, let me in!" He pleads, "Those people…th-they're trying to kill me!"_

 _No one answers, and the man knocks again._

 _"Please, I know someone's in there. Please, I need your help!"_

 _The tightness in his chest lessens as the silhouette of a man appears at the window, leaning forward behind the glass. The crackling of the torches and the angry shouts of the mob were getting closer, too close to for comfort. He needed to get in now._

 _"Oh," He says in a nasally, unimpressed tone, "You must be that outsider?"_

 _"Yes, yes, please, I need your help, those people are trying to kill me, something's wrong with them!"_

 _"Well sorry, but I don't want nothin' to do with ya,"_

 _The man's face drops,_

 _"What?"_

 _"Trot along, will ya?"_

 _The silhouette disappears deeper into his house, taking the lantern with him. Angry fists bang against the door as the man tries to get him to come back._

 _"No, no, wait, you have to help, I need your help!"_

 _No response. He hammers his fist against the door as hard as he, hoping he might break it down as the mob draws near._

 _"You bastard, you're killing me, you're killi-"_

 _The man inhales sharply as the prongs of a pitchfork emerge from his chest. He coughs as the weapon is yanked out, spattering blood on the dark wood. His knees hit the ground as he twists, landing on his back. They had reached him, this was it. He was going to die. He watches as one of the mob raises his axe above his head, bringing it down against his chest._

* * *

"No!"

The Hunter's body rises sharply, hands held out in front of him to shield him from the attack. He looks away, shutting his eyes tightly as he waits for the axe head to hack into his arm. Seconds go by without so much as a sound, and the Hunter opens his eyes to find the smokey Yharnam street replaced by a rather humble room. The nature of his surroundings soon registers in his mind as he looks around, straining to move beneath the thick bandages wrapped around his torso and arm. The cold morning air felt nice, rolling across his bare skin, and chilling his damp hair. He falls back, sinking into the soft, warming embrace of the mattress.

"It's alright," He mutters to himself, "It's just a dream."

He sucks in the frozen air, holding in his lungs for a moment before exhaling. His heat had slowed dramatically, sitting relatively calmly in his chest, rather than his throat.

Sitting up, the Hunter looks to his side, observing the layout of the room he had been placed in. Whomever had placed the furniture had efficiently conserved as much space as possible; the bed had been placed in the opposite corner of the door, with a simple dresser pressed along the wall beside it. The numerous trays of medical utensils had been set out in a way that would allow for minimal movement when selecting one, a far cry from the haphazardly scattered tools found in the clinic. He takes in another relieved breath-he was positive this wasn't Yharnam.

The Hunter swings his legs over the side of the bed, allowing them to hang limply as he looks over the room further. Across was a desk, and a simple wooden chair. Hanging off the side was a plain black shirt, and by the looks of it, it would be a decent fit for the Hunter's bare body.

His feet press against the cold wooden floor as he scoots off of the bed, grimacing as his skin rubs and pulls against the bandage. He stands on shaky legs, pressing his hand onto the side of the dresser for balance. Slowly, he walks across the room to the chair, working the stiffness from his legs with each step. He grabs the shirt and holds it up for inspection. There didn't seem to be anything unusual about it, just a simple cotton shirt, soft to the touch. He pulls it on with little difficulty. He tugs at the bottom, it was a large fit, but comfortable. He'd have to thank whoever had brought him here for all they'd done.

The door opens and the Hunter jumps, reaching behind him for his absent rakuyo as a girl walks into the room. She notices the Hunter and freezes, eyeing him with either surprise or fear, he wasn't sure.

"Oh…" She says, "You're awake."

"Yes," He answers, relaxing his posture.

"Papa," She shouts, not taking her eyes off him. The Hunter became aware of his exposed body. Aside from a soft pair of trousers, he had on nothing other than the bandage around his stomach, leaving his skin and all of the scars covering it exposed

"He's awake."

A few seconds pass before another person walks into the room. A man, in his late thirties by the looks of it, with neatly combed salt and pepper hair framing his narrow face.

"Oh, so he is." He notes, "Lina, could you be a dear and go wake up your sister?"

"Alright," She says, backing out of the room. She disappears behind the wall, but her footsteps can be heard pattering against the hardwood floor down the hall.

"Sorry about that," The man chuckles, ambling over to the desk. He takes a seat in the chair, pulling a clipboard out from behind him and reading over it. The Hunter takes a step back, putting a good few feet between him and the girl's father.

"I understand your caution," He says without looking up from the board. "Waking up in a strange place, not knowing who any of these people are, it can be rather disorienting."

The Hunter raises an eyebrow as the man scribbles something down on the board.

"I'm Jasper Yew," He introduces, finally looking up from the board and at him, "I'm a the doctor in this town."

Shit, he wanted a name in return, didn't he? The Hunter sucks his teeth as he tries to think of something. Even with what he could recall, he still didn't know his name. Dammit, dammit, dammit. He needed to think of something.

"I'm Shay," He answers hesitantly, almost sounding as though he were asking. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Yew."

"Likewise," The Doctor laughs, "But please, call me Jasper."

Shay nods.

"Please, take a seat" Jasper gestures towards the bed. Shay steps closer and sits, letting one leg hang off the mattress, limply swinging in the air. The doctor reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. He pulls something out; two thin gloves, made of some white, rubbery material.

"Mind if I check your wounds?" Jasper asks. Shay shakes his head and raises his arm. The bandage on his shoulder was the first to come off. Despite several days of healing, the blood and discharge adhered the bandage to the skin like some sort of glue. It stung coming off, but thankfully it only lasted a moment.

"Looks like the bite is healing pretty well," Jasper comments, looking closely at the tight stitches holding Shay's flesh together. "No sign of infection, but a bit of irritation. I'm gonna suggest that we use an adhesive bandage for a couple days."

Turning back to his table, the doctor opens his bag and pulls out another box. He pops open the lid and pulls out a thin, long sheet.

"Here," He says, pulling off strips of paper from the underside and pressing it onto the wound. He smoothes the bandage over and leans back. Shay raises his arm and rotates it movement stung, but the bandage felt farm more comfortable, flexing with his skin as it stretched and folded.

"Amazing, we've nothing like this where I come from."

"Oh really?" Jasper chuckles, "Well, remind me to give you a pack before you leave. Now let's see to that other one."

Raising his arms, Shay grits his teeth as the air hits the wounds on his side. It had been so long since he'd felt this pain before. He'd gotten so used to dealing with the immediate pain and the pain of the skin closing and knitting back together, he'd thought he could deal with anything. But that was immediate pain, quick, disappearing almost as soon as it had arrived. This was nowhere near as intense, but far more drawn out. Somehow, that was worse.

"I'd like to thank you," Jasper says quietly, "For saving Luna. I can't imagine what we'd do if we lost her."

"There's no need," Shay dismisses, "It's my duty to protect people from the beasts. And besides, I've always had a soft spot for little ones."

 _"Mister Hunter…."_

He shakes his head, sending the memory back to the vault where it belonged. Not again, he couldn't relive that again.

"Do you have any of your own?" Jasper asks. Shay looks at him, cocking his head slightly.

"My own?" He repeats,

"Children, I mean."

"Oh," The Hunter chuckles, "No, no, I don't have any children."

"Sorry for asking," The Doctor chuckles, "I didn't think you would, you're what, sixteen?"

"Seventeen," Shay corrects, "and it's quite alright."

The two laugh, unsure of how to continue the conversation. Shay rubs the back of his neck, he never was good with small talk.

"If I may ask, where am I?" Shay looks around the room, studying each feature as he tries to figure out where this place could be.

"You're on Patch," Jasper answers plainly, "Just off the coast of Vale."

"I'm not familiar with either," The young Hunter says.

"Yeah, I didn't think so." Jasper chuckles, "You're clothes didn't look like anything you could buy in the kingdoms."

His clothes? Damn, he'd forgotten about his things.

"On that matter," Shay starts, "Might I ask where my belongings are?"

"You're stuff? Oh, well your watch and that roll of paper you had are fine. We've got the watch soaking in some peroxide for the blood, couldn't do much for the paper. Sorry bout that."

A sigh of release exits Shay's throat with his worry. He'd be fine without his contract, but the thought of losing his watch wasn't a reality he'd be eager to face.

"And my garments?"

"Sorry to say it, but the coat and shirt weren't exactly salvageable. Damage aside, there was no getting that blood out. We washed it almost six times too, we had to toss 'em."

Shay sighs once again. Partly out of relief, partly out of disappointment. He'd loved that coat, and as far as he knew there were no others like it. Still, he could take some solace in knowing that no one was at risk of exposure to his blood.

"There's no need to apologize, you tried your best and did your job, that's more than most."

"Yeah but still, that seemed like a nice coat."

"It was a rather comfortable one."

Minutes pass as Jasper continues to inspect the wound, commenting to Shay on the state of the lacerations. Apparently the beast in the woods had cut deep, barely missing any vital organs or arteries. It was, as Jasper put it, "The luckiest damn thing he'd seen in a while." The stitches seemed to be holding well though, and the wounds themselves seemed to have healed rather quickly. After applying another large bandage, Jasper rolled back from the bed in his chair, peeling his gloves off and dumping them in a lidded waste bin.

"Now that that's out of the way, how about some breakfast?"

"Breakfast?" Shay repeats, as though he'd never heard the word in his life.

"Yeah, it's sunday, so we made pancakes. Come on."

Jasper turns and gestures for the Hunter to follow.

"Oh, and there's a shirt in the dresser." He states, pointing to the bureau at the foot of the bed. Turning to open it, Shay pulls out a thin white shirt. Slipping the garment on and buttoning it to his collarbone, he turns to follow Jasper out of the room, muttering a quick but genuine "Thank you" as they pass through the doorway.

The two walk down the hall, and Shay soon notices the scent of freshly brewed coffee, mixing with the sweet scent of maple and sugar.

"Hiya!" Luna greets excitedly, jumping in front of the two, grinning wildly.

"Morning, Lu." Jasper greets back, picking his daughter up and planting a kiss on her forehead. He turns to look at the Hunter and smiles.

"Luna, this is Shay, I'm sure you remember him."

"Of course," She states excitedly, wrestling out of her father's grasp and jumping onto the Hunter. She wraps her arms tightly around his neck and holds on tightly as Shay stumbles around off balance.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She squeals as she tightens her hug. Shay grabs her by the waist and pulls her off of him, setting her down on the floor. She looks up at him and smiles, he smile back before looking back to the dining room. Two women sat at the table, the one who had entered the room earlier, and another, older woman. The two resembled each other greatly, with soft blue eyes and freckles. Their hair seemed to be the only difference. While both were blue, the older woman's was several shade lighter.

The table had already been set and lined with plates around the outer edge, surrounding the dishes filled with steaming food at the center of the table. It all looked delicious; hotcakes with a bowl of syrup, sausage links, steaming as the hot meat hit the cool air. Slabs of ham strips of bacon. The smell was damn near intoxicating, with the sweetness of the syrup and the seasonings of the meat all intertwining in the air. It was then the Hunter realized how hungry he actually was.

His stomach rumbles, and Luna giggles before grabbing his hand, tugging his arm and leading him out of the room.

"Come on," She says, "You can sit next to me and Lina."

She leads him to the side of the table the younger girl, whom he assumed to be Lina, was sitting at. Luna sits, and gestures to the empty seat next to her. Shay hesitates, but takes a seat as Jasper sits next to the older woman.

"Well, I'm guessing introductions are in order," Jasper remarks, "Shay, this is my family. My wife Hope," He gestures to the woman next to him. She smiles and gives a brief wave.

"It's nice to meet you," She says.

"And my daughters Carolina and Luna." He gestures to the two girls. "You've met Luna, of course."

"Hi," Carolina mumbles.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all, I appreciate you having me for breakfast, as well as all the help you've given me."

"It's no big deal," Jasper dismisses, "It's the least we can do."

"So Shay, what would you like to drink?" Hope asks, "We have coffee, milk, juice."

"Coffee is perfect, thank you."

The pot of coffee is passed down the table. Shay takes it, nodding thankfully, and pours the hot beverage into his mug.

"Do you want and cream or sugar?" Jasper offers, Shay raises his hand dismissively.

"No thank you." He says, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. He shudders, the smiles as a relaxed breath passes his lips.

The eating began soon after, each of the family passing the dishes around, filling their plates with their preferred foods. Soon, each plate was covered in different foods. Hotcakes, sausages, bacon, ham, grits. Shay had been liberal with the sausage and ham, filling his plate almost exclusively with the seasoned meats.

"Thank you for the food," He says, nodding. He slices a piece of sausage and spears the chunk with his fork, popping it into his mouth. It was delicious, almost eye wateringly so. The blend of spices mixed almost perfectly with the natural flavor of the meat. He chews slowly, wanting to savor each second of this newly rediscovered joy. Within minutes, though, his plate is clean, and Shay is chewing the last bite of ham with a satisfied grin.

"Hungry, aren't you?" Jasper jokes. Shay swallows and chuckles.

"Apologies, it's been quite awhile since I'd last eaten."

"It's no problem," Hope says, stifling a laugh, "I'm glad you like the food."

"It's delicious, thank you." Shay replies"My compliments to the chef."

"Why thank you,"

The meal continues for another several minutes. Shay sits in silence, sipping from the mug as the family chat and eat gleefully. He smirks, taking in the relaxing atmosphere of the house. This was a nice place, nowhere near as chaotic as the burning streets of Yharnam.

" _Then what was that beast doing here?"_

He shudders at the thought of the blood destroying yet another town. He hadn't been there when Yharnam's social structure was still intact, but he'd seen what remained. Parent's desperately trying to protect their children, people boarding themselves inside in a desperate bid to protect themselves from the plague already flowing within them. Children wandering outside, hoping to find parents that would never come home. It was hell on earth.

He wouldn't let the same thing happen here.

"Shay?"

Shay's head snaps up towards Jasper, meeting his concerned eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Shay shakes his head and rubs his eyes, setting the mug on the table.

"Y-yes," He stammers, trying to organize his thoughts. "Just lost in thought, sorry."

"That's alright, Carolina was just wondering what academy you were from?"

Shay looks to the older girl, confused.

"Academy?" He repeats, "I'm not sure I understand your question."

"Like...what training academy did you go to? You're a Huntsman aren't you?"

"Huntsman…" He sighs under his breath. The word was similar to Hunters, that much was obvious. It was most likely a simple case of cultural differences. There were a lot of things different here already, the flora, the beasts, it would be reasonable to assume that titles and words were different as well. Though, why would one go to an academy to train? Did they function the same as the church? Training and organizing the land's hunters?

"Well, yes and no." Shay finally answers, "Where I come from, we're called Hunters, and we're, in a way, employed by the church. We don't train in academies as you call it, those are simply institutions for learning."

"So where are you from?" Jasper questions, "If you don't mind me asking."

"Well…" Shay hesitates, "I come from a city called Yharnam, it was where I was trained as a Hunter. Is the name familiar to anyone?"

Jasper scratches his head,

"Can't say I've heard of it. So what's this place like?"

"It's large," Shay explains. "When I first step foot into the city, I was amazed at how high the buildings and towers seemed to rise. It was an archaeological wonder."

"Sounds nice." Jasper chuckles. "What about the Huntsmen, you said they didn't operate under academies."

"Yes, Hunter's were split into workshops, each one linked to the church or some higher authority."

"Cool," Carolina exclaims,

"It was a rather intriguing how they functioned. Each workshop specialised in different ways to combat the beasts, yet each one was linked to each other through the Church."

Shay reaches under his shirt and pulls out his necklace.

"Each of these badges represents on the workshops, and each one grants me access to their tools and weapons."

"Wait, so you didn't build your own?" Carolina asks,

"The Hunter's before me might have. By the time I arrived, materials were so scarce we had to use what we had. Though it has allowed me to learn many different ways to fight the beasts.

"Really? That's awesome!' Luna exclaims.

"I agree," Hope says, "I think you'd be a great addition to Beacon."

"Beacon?"

"It's the academy in Vale." Jasper explains, "Most of the students in Signal, the combat school here, graduate and go to Beacon."

An organized institution of Hunters...it was certainly an interesting notion. And if there were beasts here, then more training would certainly be useful.

"So you think I should enroll?"

"Of course," Hope says, smiling warmly.

"Yeah, it's not often someone takes down a Grimm bare handed."

"Grimm?" Shay repeats, confused.

"You called them beast. Here, we call them Grimm. They're creatures that exist only to kill. No one know's where they come from, but there's a lot of them."

"Interesting…" So that creature wasn't a product of the blood, that was a relief. "So those lycans are the Grimm?" Shay inquires.

"It's one of them, anyway. There's a few more, each have their own traits, and none of them are friendly."  
"I'll be sure to avoid trying to talk things out," Shay remarks dryly. He pops another bite into his mouth. He chews quietly before sitting up and setting his fork down.

"On the matter of the Hunter's academy, how would one go about reaching Beacon?"  
"Well, you'd need to get to Vale first. I could probably see if my friend at signal could arrange a transportation."

"You would?" Shay asks in disbelief, Jasper nods, smiling. "Thank you,"

"It'll take a few days though, not many from Signal stop by, and there's no guarantee anyone would read a message if I sent one."  
"That is perfectly fine, Doctor. I'll see if I can find some lodgings for the wait."

"What are you talking about? You can stay here."

Shay's eyes widen in surprise.

"That won't be necessary, you've already done so much, I'd hate to impose."

"Trust me, dear." Hope reassures, "It's no trouble trouble."

Shay sucks on his teeth, unsure of how to respond. The hospitality of this family was...overwhelming. He had to wonder, was this how people really were? The years in that nightmare had sapped almost every memory of interaction with other people. Being exposed to this again, where it should've left him feeling warm, only left him feeling displaced, like he was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.

"Thank you," He says, managing a smile.

* * *

 **And there's chapter four, our Hunter's gotten his name, he's learned a bit about where he's at, and now he's getting ready to go to vale, where the plot can kick into third gear and I can stop stressing over this. Oh, and to those of you who guessed Patch, good on you, nice job. I'm sure I fucked the geography up somehow but in my defense, i nearly flunked 10th grade geography last year. Love you guys, thanks for reading the story, and I hope you guys are excited for the next chapter. As always, please favorite and review, every bit helps, especially since I've got that nagging feeling that this chapter still isn't up to quo.**


	5. Colorful Characters

Shay sits on the bed, fingers twirling a crimson ribbon around his fingers as he looks over the contract. His fight in the forest had left the sides of the parchment stained with his blood, forming a morbid frame around the writing. The Hunter's eyes scan the page, reading through line after line of messily scrawled terms and conditions. His eyes narrow at several of the passages, trying to draw some semblance of meaning from the increasingly sloppy text.

A sense of relief comes over him as he finds a section written with much more care and attention; the lettering becoming smoother, more natural. It seemed to be a list of medical notes; things such as height, weight, even bloodtype, all neatly written and underlined. At the bottom of the contract was more written in the same hand. It was fancier, almost artistic, but he recognized the four letters almost immediately.

Shay. His name. His signature.

A line of ink lead away from his writing; trailing off into little more than a scratch on the page, as though the paper had been yanked away from him as soon as he'd signed it. The Hunter's brow furrows as he looks back over the contract, trying to find more.

Nothing.

Sighing, the Hunter sets the paper down beside him as he leans back onto the bed. He now knew more of who he was, he should be glad. Yet the feeling of dissatisfaction knotting in his chest refused to leave him be. He knew his height, his bloodtype even, yet all were unneeded details he could acquire by asking Jasper. The answers the contract provided were plentiful, yet they remained unimportant; tiny and meaningless beneath the shadow of a larger question he could never seem to solve. Nothing seemed to take him anywhere, his memories, his dreams, even written documentation of his existence, they were all dead ends in this twisting maze.

"Dammit," He mutters, reaching beneath his shirt His hand finds the necklace, pulling it out by one of the badges. They jingle pleasantly as he raises the collection above his head, staring at the many trophies he'd acquired. His focus shifts to one in particular; a peculiar sculpting of a crow. A ray of sunlight glints of the rounded edge, illuminating the etchings in the bronze.

" _This too is Hunter's work, but it bears no honor."_

He shakes his head, trying to remove Eileen's words from his thoughts. Even the pleasant memories he had were now tainted by that damned city. His mentor's words, once providing comfort and strength, now only served to remind him of her absence. Yet another of his numerous failures.

A thought occurs, and Shay drops the badge, leaving the necklace to swing from his neck as he reaches for the contract. He grabs the pen from the desk beside his bed and bites down on the end, pulling the cap off and pressing the nib to the top of the paper. With a few quick motions, he scribbles something down next to his name. A surname, not his own of course, but just as valid. If his information was to be filed upon entrance, it may seem rather suspicious were he not to have a full name. If he could not remember his original, then why shouldn't he craft his own?

His lips curl into a slight grin as he reads over the name, pride swelling in his stomach.

"Shay Corvus" He whispers. A pleasant name, yet one that wouldn't allow for him to forget his duty. Perhaps even Eileen might have approved.

Someone knocks at the door, ripping Shay's attention from the contract and back to his reality.

"Shay?" Jasper calls out, "You in there?"

"I am," He answers. The knob turns and the door swings open. The doctor walks into the room, hands tucked in the pockets of his coat. His eyes scan the room as he nods, lips pulled thin and tight across his face.

"Quite the little collection you've got," He remarks. Collection? What does he mean?

Shay looks around the room, brow raised as he wonders what collection Jasper could be referring to. His eyes widen as he realizes how many books he'd amassed within the past few days. Dozens of tomes, all stacked upon the desk and floor. Some still left open on the bed beside him.

That collection.

"Yes," Shay admits shyly. An odd heat rises into his face, tightening his jaw. "I suppose I have gathered quite a few books from your shelf. I apologize for the mess."

"Don't worry about it," Jasper dismisses. "I'm just glad these old things could provide some help, just be sure to put 'em back when you're done."

Shay nods, stacking the books next to him and picking them up. He'd made a habit of returning the books to their places when he had finished, now was no time for lapse.

Standing from the bed, Shay exits the room and turns right, walking down the hall to Jasper's office. His inhales slowly, taking in the familiar scent of disinfectant as he nears the door.

Entering the office, Shay sets the books down and kneels beside the large shelf, opening the cabinet door and placing the books inside one by one. An unpleasant ache tugs at him, growing worse with each book. They had been so kind, Jasper and his family, taking him in and helping them. He didn't deserve this, he knew that. He'd practically lied to them, telling them stories filled with half truths and watered down facts. Even worse, he couldn't possibly repay them for this; the food, the clothes, the medical care, any of it. He was simply leaving.

" _ **So you're not gonna come and see?" Jasper asks.**_

" _ **Sorry Jasper." The phantom responds, "There's no way we can send transport over to the town."**_

 _ **Shay hangs back near the table, his fingers running over the spine of a steak knife as he watches the apparition with suspicion. He'd seen spirits before, ghosts, phantoms, whatever they were called here, and he knew enough to be wary. He shudders at the memory of castle Cainhurst and the massacre that had taken place years before. The Executioners and their petty war, instigated by the pettiness of the Church. Alfred…**_

 _ **He shakes his head, pulling his mind away from the past. This was not Yharnam, and that was no spirit. Simply a "video call" as the Doctor had described it, a simple projection of an image through the device he carried.**_

" _ **Listen," The man says, "Is there some way you can get in contact with Beacon? Maybe call out a team to repair the wall so they have a reason to come pick him up?"**_

 _ **Two birds with one stone, an admittedly clever idea. If the situation was as Jasper had said, then sending a team to repair the wall would negate the resources used to collect him. Even more convenient, an entire step in the process would be removed.**_

" _ **That seems plausible," Shay agrees.**_

" _ **I'm glad you think so," The man states, "If you want, I can funnel your request to Beacon for you, they'll probably process it sooner."**_

" _ **That would be great" Jasper says, "Thank you."**_

"There we go," Shay sighs, stepping back to appreciate his work. The bookshelf stands tall as ever, each of the books separated by categories, and lined alphabetically. He turns and exits the room, shutting the door behind him. He makes his way down the hall, closer to the sounds of Luna's giddy laughter. She notices him as he enters the room, smiling wide as she stands and walks up to him, fingers holding tightly onto a sheet of parchment.

"Hi Shay," She greets.

"Hello, Luna."

"Wanna see what I drew?"  
Shay kneels down as Luna holds up her paper, pointing out the blending of colors in the sky, and the detail she had put in the mountains. The kid was an artist, no doubt.

"Amazing," Shay says, giving Luna an approving grin. She smiles with pride and continues working on her art. There's a knock at the door.

"I got it," Hope says, standing and walking to the door. She turns the knob and pulls it open, revealing the Mayor; a tall, lanky man with thick curly hair as black as the coat he wore.

"Oh, Hello Sterling." Hope greets, "what brings you here?"

"Hello, Mrs. Yew." The Mayor greets back, offering a pleasant smile. "Is your husband home? I was hoping to find him and the young Huntsman you've been housing."

"I'm present," Shay says, stepping closer. "I believe Doctor Yew is is his office."

"Perfect, would it be alright if I came in?"

"Yes, please." Hope answers, stepping to the side and allowing the Mayor to enter. Shay follows the Mayor to the hall, walking down the hall with him and stopping just outside of Jasper's office. The Mayor knocks on the door lightly.

"Come in," Jasper answers, his voice muffled from behind the door. The Mayor opens the door and walks in.

"Hello, Doctor Yew." He greets, "How are you?"  
"Mayor Sterling, hello," He acknowledges, surprised, "I'm quite well, thanks. What brings you here?"

"I simply wanted to notify you that the Huntsman team from beacon has arrived, along with a staff member from beacon."  
"Ah, that's good to hear. I assume you'll be heading over to the hall to greet them?"

"Yes," The Mayor confirms, "Though, as you were the one to place the request, and you," He acknowledges Shay with gesture, "are in need of transport to the school, I believe it would be appropriate for you two to come greet them with me."

"I see" Jasper says, standing from his desk. He looks to Shay, possibly for an input on the situation.

"It makes sense," The Hunter admits, "It would be courteous to greet them, at the very least."

"Alright then," Jasper straightens his posture and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "I guess we're in agreement then."

"Excellent," The Mayor smiles warmly, "It's best we leave now, it'd be rude to leave our guests waiting."  
Exiting the office, the three men make their way into the living room. Shay stops, taking a moment to look over what he was leaving behind.

"Going somewhere?" Hope asks, looking up from her book.

Jasper nods,

"The Huntsmen from Beacon arrived," He states, "Sterling wants us to come greet them with him."

"Can I come?" Carolina asks, jumping from her sit with an excited grin.

"Don't see why not," Jasper shrugs, "Anyone else wanna go?"

Luna raises her hand, and Hope imitates her daughter, chuckling to herself..

"Alright," Jasper snorts, trying to contain his amusement. "Come on."

Exiting the house, Shay takes immediate notice of the large metal craft sitting just outside of the town's gate; a large metal pod, suspended in the air two large legs attack to the side. At first glance, one would assume it to be some sort of vehicle, yet the lack of wheels or any sort of way to enable movement spoke otherwise. Shay scratches his head, puzzled. If it could not move, then how in the hell had it gotten there?

"They're just this way, in the town Hall."

"Lead the way," Shay mumbles.

The Mayor leads the five to the Hall, speaking about the necessary improvements and precautions required for the wall's repair as they walked up the flight of stairs leading into the building. Through the door, Shay can hear the muffled voices of several women. The Mayor opens the door and gestures for the Yews to walk in. Shay follows close behind, and the Mayor enters last, letting the door shut behind him.

Standing near the opposite end of the room was a group of five, four girls and a man, each with distinctly different styles of clothing. Their posture seemed rather casual, with the shortest of the group going on about something he couldn't quite hear. The one in the black shirt takes notice of the group and catches her team's attention. They straighten their posture and alignment, giving them a sense of professionalism. Shay takes immediate notice of the Huntress standing to the far right, or more specifically her pale white hair. The four must have noticed him as well, as even from the distance he as, he could see a falter in the the white one's stony expression, as well as the other three's questioning glances between her and him.

"Weiss," The short one whispers, "Do you know that guy?"

"No, Ruby." She hisses, "Why would you think that?"

"Well, doesn't everyone in your family have white hair?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean we're related."

The white one, Weiss, her manner of dress seemed familiar. The care and detail that had put into reflected a sense of… royalty? No, not quite royalty, nobility perhaps. Her manner spoke the same, with an air of haughtiness pervading her tone.

"Team RWBY reporting for duty," The short one announces with a bit too much enthusiasm.

"Thank you for coming, team RWBY." The Mayor says, "We appreciate your assistance."

"No problem, Mayor," The short one says, grinning ear to ear. Weiss rolls her eyes, visibly displeased with her teammate's unprofessional manner.

"What do you need us to do?" The blond one asks.

"Well, as I'm sure you've been briefed, you're here for two reasons, the most important of which being providing assistance for our workers. We'll need someone to ensure that maintenance proceeds smoothly and that no one is harmed by any Grimm attracted by the noise. Very straightforward."

"And the second reason?" Weiss asks.

"We will discuss that once repairs have been tended to, it will be much easier to explain."

"Right," The Short one nods, "We're ready when you are."

"They're awesome, aren't they?" Carolina asks, nudging Shay's arm and pointing to the Huntresses, gawking as they moved across the battlefield. A large beowulf had emerged from the woods, towering over the tallest of the team by at least four feet. Two of its kin had emerged soon after, likely members of the same pack. The team's skill was apparent; their movements being the most notable; quick, ferocious, experienced, not much unlike how he had been trained. Their fighting styles differed greatly, yet seemed to compliment each other. He had noticed early on in their fight that the four seemed to split off, sticking close to a specific teammate. The red one, Ruby, he presumed, had remained close to the one in white, Weiss. While the blonde and the dark haired one made sure to be within a close proximity to each other.

"They work well together," Shay notes, "Though it's their weapons that interest me."

"They are pretty cool," Carolina states, "I like the one with the scythe though, it must be tough using something as big as that."

Shay nods in agreement, watching the red one as she hacks a beast in two.

"She does have a certain style about her," He concedes, "And to possess the skill to wield such a weapon, it's impressive."

The Huntress turns as one of the creatures lunge, swinging her weapon upwards and forcing the blade through its skull.

"Do you know how to use one?" Carolina asks. Shay turns to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

"A scythe, I mean." She clarifies, "You mentioned being able to use multiple weapons, was a scythe one of them?"  
"Ah," Shay clicks his tongue as he thinks back to the dream.

"My teacher gave me…"some" instruction on how to use it, though I never brought it into the field."

"Aww, that sucks." Carolina groans. Shay cracks a slight smile and chuckles.  
"Not necessarily," He defends, "My mentor felt I was lacking in proficiency with the blade. I was in agreement, it was much too large for my tastes anyhow."

A gunshot echoes through the village, startling the Hunter just as much as it had the flock of birds fleeing from the forest.

"What was that?" Shay asks, standing to get a better look at the field outside the gate. The body of a grim lay before the red Huntress. Smoke rises from, the stump that was it's head as the body begins to disintegrate. Shay looks back to the Huntress, watching as she swings the scythe around her head and back to a more relaxed grip. A wispy trail of smoke flows from the weapon, quickly disappearing in the sunlight.

"A gun." He notes with an almost whispered tone, "Her scythe...is a gun."

Several more shots ring out, catching the Hunter's attention. He looks to the other three, watching as flashes of light erupt from their weapons.

"So each one doubles as a firearm," Shay notes, watching as another grimm falls to the ground.

An excited beat rings in his chest. He'd assumed these Huntsmen would have weapons far more advanced than what he'd used in Yharnam, but to see it for himself was beyond amazing. Not only could these weapons transform, but they could fire projectiles as well. To imagine the skill one would need to properly wield such tools.

"It's pretty standard," Carolina comments, "A lot of Grimm are too dangerous or too hard to get close to, so the Huntsmen have to fight at a range. Didn't you mention that you had a gun too, though?"

"I had a pistol and blunderbuss, Yes," Shay nods, looking back at Carolina, "though they lacked the power to deal any effective damage to the beasts. Firearms were mostly used to knock the creatures off balance so one might rip the corruption from inside of them."

Carolina grimaces at his wording, but nods.  
"The dust rounds here pack a bit of a punch, maybe you could use them when you get a new weapon."

"That's an appealing thought," Shay states.

He crosses his arms and leans against the wall. It wasn't something he'd thought much of, but it had remained in the back of his mind regardless. He was weaponless, he had been since he awoke in that creek. It was a problem that needed immediate correction. He had barely scraped by with bare hands, to go against another Hunter, he'd need a replacement.

The thought was admittedly painful; he'd loved his rakuyo. The weapon had served him well ever since he retrieved it from that damned well, but it was gone. He'd need to either acquire a new blade, or fabricate one of his own. At least if he were to choose the latter he could try to replicate his beloved sabre.

"All clear," The blonde Huntress shouts. The Hunter watches with interest as her gauntlets collapse into a pair a simple armbands.

"Good job, team." The red one answers, holding up her thumb and winking. She swings her scythe around as it begins to fold, retracting the blade and folding itself into a compact device. Shay blinks several times to check his sight. He had seen that correctly, had he not? A weapon as durable as her's collapsing into such a small object? Such a thing couldn't possibly be viable in combat. The size and weight, let alone the number of joints, what could these weapons possibly be made of?

"Repairs are just about done," One of the carpenters announces, straining to talk over the sound of hammers and drills. "We should be good in a few minutes."

"Not bad for our third mission, huh sis?"

The blonde grabs the red one into a headlock, affectionately twisting her fist into to the top of her skull.

"Sis?" The Hunter repeats quietly. He watches the two closely, looking for any sort of familial link. They didn't resemble each other in the slightest. Hair, height, skin tone, nothing matched.

No, wait.

Looking closer, he could see their eyes. Yes, their eyes were a match. The color was different; the taller one's being a light shade of violet and the smaller deep silver, but the shape, the angle, a perfect match. Noticing such a similarity, Shay began to notice the smaller details. Their nose, their lashes, even their facial structure. They were siblings, without a doubt, though the differences were too deep to be a coincidence. Perhaps they were only linked through one parent.

His hand closes around the watch in his pocket.

"Well done, team RWBY," The tall man says, taking a sip from his mug as the quartet walks through the gate. Shay looks at him with surprise, he'd almost forgotten his presence, he'd been so quiet.

"The mayor has informed me of our secondary objective," He says quickly, "We will be escorting this young man back to beacon with us so that he may enroll. If I understand correctly, he is a foreigner to these parts and unfamiliar with much of...this."

He gestures to the area around them.

" I trust you will help him acclimate properly."

"Sure thing, Professor," The shorter one says, apparently able to properly understand the man's caffeine addled speech.

"We will be leaving momentarily," Oobleck states, taking another sip from his thermos. He raises his arm and checks the watch strapped to his wrist.

"About thirty minutes to be exact," He clarifies, "I believe it would be best if you five became better acquainted in the meantime. I'm going to refill my coffee."

In a blur of green and beige, the Professor was gone, disappearing into the town hall.

"Does he need more caffeine?" Shay asks warily, earning a snicker from one of the Huntresses.

"Don't worry about him," The blonde dismisses, "He's like that even when he isn't wired."

"Is he now?" Shay notes, his eyes still focused on the door, "I'm not sure whether that's impressive or worrying."

"It depends on the situation,"

"Well," The youngest interjects, "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."

"So," The short one starts, still chewing her sandwich, "Now that we all got our food, what's your name?"

"Shay…" the Hunter answers quietly, "Corvus."

"Nice to meet you Shay, I'm Ruby, this is my sister Yang, my partner Weiss, and Yang's partner Blake."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all." Shay nods his head before taking a sip of his tea. The bitter liquid sends a shudder through his body.

"You sure you don't want any sugar?" Yang asks, "That stuff is pretty strong."

"It's quite alright, thank you. I find the bitterness helps me focus."

"Wow, I don't think Blake even takes her tea without sugar."

"It's certainly not a common taste," Shay admits, shrugging. "But I like it."

The five sit in silence for a moment longer, and Shay watches as the Huntresses enjoy their meals. Yang had requested a burger, and Ruby a simple sandwich. Weiss requested a salad, citing the health benefits when faced with Ruby and Yang's disapproving looks. Blake had simply asked for fish. Cooked as rare as possible, and without seasoning. He himself simply asked black tea, refusing the offer of sugar and cream to go with it.

"So, where are you from?" Ruby asks, pulling Shay out of his thoughts and back into reality.

"Come again?"

"Sorry, I just overheard Professor Oobleck talking with the mayor and that guy you showed up with, they said something about you not being from here."

"Ah, they're quite right. I hail from a city quite a distance from here. In fact, I was not aware of the existence of the kingdoms until recently after my arrival."

"Wait, so you're from outside of the Kingdoms?" Ruby asks in what sounds like disbelief.

"That is correct." Shay nods,

"I didn't think there was much outside the kingdoms." Weiss comments, "Is it different from here in any way?"

A lump catches in Shay's throat.

"I'd...rather not discuss it. The town I come from isn't exactly…" He pauses, struggling to find a word that wasn't too graphic or disturbing.

"...Welcoming." He shifts uncomfortably, trying to work the sudden stiffness out of his body.

Weiss seems to notice his discomfort and nods knowingly. He tightens his lips and makes a thankful gesture with his head.

"Oh! What kind of weapon do you use?" Ruby asks with an excited grin.

"Many," Shay answers.

"Many?" She repeats.

"That is what I said. Is that unusual?"

"Kinda," Ruby admits, "Most Huntsmen just pick a weapon or make their own, not a lot use more than one."

"I see," Shay notes, taking a sip from his tea. A single weapon...interesting. While the lack of adaptability would certainly be a drawback, the power of the arms he'd seen so far would most likely make up for that.

"So what kinds do you use then? Any favorites?"

"Favorites, huh?" Shay repeats, leaning back in the chair and considering his answer. He certainly had his preferences, and for most of his hunt he had been reliant on the saw cleaver. Sharp, and with a decent weight behind each swing, there was little to discourage one from it's use. Though, as he became more skillful, he found himself becoming less and less fond of the cleaver, practically discarding it when he entered that well.

"My Rakuyo was certainly a treasured tool during my hunt."

"Rakuyo?" Ruby repeats, "That's a cool name."

"It was an admittedly stylish weapon," Shay shrugs, "Yet it remained a simple and effective weapon for the skillful."

"How'd it work?" Yang asks. Shay holds up his index and middle fingers.

"Two blades, both single edged. The longer of the two made up the primary weapon, while the shorter resided within a socket at the butt of the grip." One could easily remove or attach the dagger to match their situation.

"Sounds pretty fancy," Yang chuckles,

"It was indeed a weapon of elegance."

"That's awesome." Ruby exclaims,

"How's everything goin'," A voice asks. Shay looks to see their server, notepad in hand and a smile on her face. She was a rather attractive woman, with light brown hair braided and swept to the side, and vibrant green eyes. He looks at the tag on her shirt.

Amber.

"It's all great," Yang answers, "Could we get our check please?"

"No need," Amber says, "It's on the house."

"Wait, really?"

"Of course, between you four helping to fix the wall and this one saving little Luna, it's the least we could do."

Shay feels a hotness spread to his cheeks as the four Huntresses turn to look at him.

"That's not really necessary," He says quickly, "I-I didn't do it to receive any reward, honestly, you needn't make an exception for me, I'd be happy to pay for my tea."

"Come one, Shay," Yang chastises, "Are you really saying no to a free stuff?" She turns to Amber. "Thank you for the meal, we're happy to have helped."

"Not a problem, and thank you." She nods before turning and sauntering off. Shay watches her as she leaves, her hips swaying. Her head turns, and for a moment, he could've sworn she had cast a quick glance back at him. He shakes his head, no, he must be seeing things.

"Alright," Weiss says, standing up, "We should get back, I don't think the Professor's gonna be to happy if we take much longer."  
"Good idea, bestie," Ruby stands with her, quickly draining her glass before setting on the table. Blake and Yang follow in suit, sliding their chairs back into the table.

"You ready, Shay?" Yang asks. He gives a quick nod and takes another drink from his tea, emptying the mug before setting it down and standing. The five walk towards the exit, where Amber stands at the podium.

"Thank you for coming," She says, "Come back soon."

"Thanks," Ruby says, "We'll try." Shay follows the Huntresses out the door into the bright midday sun. He puts a hand over his eye, shielding it from some of the light. He'd need to replace his hat soon, as impossible .

"Where is this professor?" Shay asks,

"Professor Oobleck should be at the town hall," Weiss answers,

The five round the corner onto the main road in the village. Shay spots Jasper with Oobleck and the mayor, clearly in deep discussion about something. With each step, their word become clearer.

"Empty handed," He hears the Professor say as he scratches his chin. "And without his aura you say?"

They were talking about him, they had to be.

"Yeah, it got him pretty good; three lacerations on his side, and a bite around his left shoulder."

"Interesting, we'll have to evaluate him when he arrives, though I do believe that his skill alone will likely gain him admission into the Academy."  
"Professor!" Ruby calls out as they near the steps below the Hall.

"Ah, team RWBY, exquisite timing. The Mayor, Dr. Yew and I were simply discussing our new Huntsman."

The Professor turns his attention towards Shay. He squints as he tries to determine what kind of look he was giving behind the thick lenses.

"As for you, young man, I must say, well done with the Beowulf in the woods. I believe you will make an excellent student."  
"I'm honored to hear that, Professor." Shay gives a small bow. "Is there anything I should acquire before my training?"

"There are a few things, though I believe we can discuss that after we return to Beacon. As for you, team RWBY, excellent work assisting with repairs. I believe you all qualify for a passing grade.

"Alright!" Ruby shouts, pumping her fist into the air.

"Now, I believe we should be off. Young man, is there anything you require before we depart?"  
"I would like to say farewell to doctor Yew, if I may."

"Go right on ahead, we'll be waiting by the bullhead."

Oobleck turns and begins walking towards the gate, followed close by Ruby and her team. Turning his attention to Jasper, the Hunter extends his hand. The good doctor grips it tightly and gives a firm shake.

"Thank you," Shay says, "For everything."

"Don't mention it," He says, "It was good to meet you."

"Likewise."

He hesitates to release his hand. There was more he should say, more he should do.

"Don't worry about the girls," Jasper assures, "I'll let them know you said goodbye."

With that, Shay lets go, smiling as he gives another formal bow before turning and following the Professor and his students to the gate. They had already exited the village, and were waiting patiently by the large metal construction. It's side had lowered, revealing a hollow cavity within. Strange; he'd still not figured out how such a structure could possibly transport them to and from the academy.

"Have you ever ridden in a Bullhead before?" Ruby asks as Shay nears the group, Shay shakes his head.

"I have not," He says, "I've never seen anything quite like this if I'm being honest."

"You might be in for a ride then," Yang warns. Shay follows them up the ramp and into the cabin. The ramp rises, shutting them inside as they take their seats.

"How does this machine transport you," Shay asks, "I saw no wheels, no horses."

"Have you never flown before?" Weiss asks warily.

"Flown?"  
"You might might wanna hold on," Ruby cautions, "We have a friend who isn't too fond of flying."

Flying? What in the seven hells did they mean by flying? Birds could fly, bugs could fly, but people? No, people couldn't fly.

Shay's face pales as the machine begins to shake with a mechanical cranking. His stomach drops as the room begins to sway. There was an odd sort of weight in the air, as though gravity were trying to pull them down. No, they couldn't be lifting off of the ground, could they? This thing was far too large to possibly achieve such a feat.

"Shay, you alright?"

Shay remains quiet, unsure of whose voice had called out to him. He tightens his jaw and holds onto the seat as the vehicle continues to rise. He braces himself for the inevitable. The weightlessness he had felt several times over, and the abrupt impact upon colliding with the ground. This wasn't good, this wasn't good at all. If he were to die, he'd want to die fighting, no trapped inside some metal deathtrap, waiting in fear for the moment it would drop out of the sky.

His hands didn't release the bench until they touched down.

 **Holy shit, I'm really sorry for making you guys wait this long. I've been in a writers slump for so friggin long that this was just waiting in my doc manager, untouched for almost thirty days. I hope there hasn't been too many of you that've lost interest in the story, as I do intend to complete it. To help ease the wait time, though, and to help with any creative blocks, I will be diverting my time to other stories. Like that failed TLOU fic I was working on, that only got 1 chapter. Anyway, favorite, review, gimme hate for taking so damn long, all that stuff. Good thing chapters 6 and 7 just need to be edited, right?**


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